


The Devil In My Bloodstream

by CorpusHypercubicus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpusHypercubicus/pseuds/CorpusHypercubicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*cross-post w/ FF.net*</p><p>The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries.  Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher.  By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed.  Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.</p><p>But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all.  Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow.  Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.   </p><p>Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems.  He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.  </p><p>But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.  </p><p>They're both falling apart behind closed doors.  Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything's An Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Cross published from FF.net because hey, I thought I might as well post it here and see if I get any different reactions. 
> 
> This story has gone through a lot of changes and editing. What was originally just a one shot turned into a whole story. What was originally a study of the Seven turned into some kind of Percy/Nico focused angst dump. 
> 
> Drop me a kudos if you enjoy, and leave me a comment if you have any thoughts, criticisms, or suggestions for direction

PERCY  
Everything's an Illusion- Mayday Parade

I’ve never been one for rules. My track record certainly speaks to that fact. 

I’ve been expelled from more schools than I can count: for starting fights, for mouthing off to teachers, for generally being a fuck up. I usually never got to stay in one place for more than a year, and it shows in my distinct lack of mortal friends. 

I’ve even been expelled from Goode. Apparently I’ve missed too much school between all those months I spent in Hera’s sleep or as a Roman or on the Argo II or in Tartarus or…or fighting another fucking war. Paul’s appeal wasn’t even enough to keep me there; they’d been reluctant to accept me in the first place. My expulsion was totally out of his hands and was probably being celebrated by the faculty. One less student dragging down their test score averages. 

It makes me sad knowing that I can’t go back there. I’d made a silent promise to myself (and to my mom and Paul, for that matter) that Goode would be the last school, that I would spend my junior and senior year there with the few mortal friends I’d managed to make and keep. I’d promised my mom that I would actually graduate, especially after everything she went through trying to get me the best education possible. 

Now, all that’s fucked up. I’ve let her down again…

All I ever do is let people down. All I ever do is get in trouble. All I ever do is fuck up. 

And this…this is just my latest fuck up, the latest edition to my long list of bad decisions. It could get me in trouble on so many different levels…

But here I am, and it’s not like I care anymore. I eye the three-quarters empty bottle of clear liquid in front of me, and it occurs to me that it’s not empty enough. I still have a ways to go before I’m satisfied for the night. 

I take another swig and grimace as it burns the back of my throat. I’ve gotten used to the sting though, and the unpleasant taste. In fact, I’ve come to find comfort in it. After all, the end result is always worth it: a beautiful, blissful numbness and a dreamless sleep. 

I know that it’s wrong, that it’ll only hurt me if I keep it up. Living with a raging alcoholic for a good chunk of my life should’ve taught me that this was never the answer. Sometimes I can’t help but remember those nights home with him, in the apartment that smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke no matter how much my mother cleaned. Most nights I avoided him by locking myself in my room until my mom came home from work. But the nights when that asshole was furious about losing his paycheck in a poker game…the nights when my mom was working extra shifts to make up for the paycheck he’d lost the week prior…those nights I couldn’t get far enough away. They still invade my nightmares from time to time, as I’m forced to relive the heat of his alcohol-scented breath, the crash of empty beer bottles hitting the tile floor, the harsh sting of a slap across the face…

You’d think those experiences would’ve made me hate alcohol. For the longest time, I thought they would. It had never interested me before; it never seemed like a valid way of solving my problems. Talking to people, knowing that I had someone to lean on…that’d always been enough. If I was feeling low, I could talk to my mom (about certain, non-demigod things, at least) or Grover or…or Annabeth…

But now…now I need this. I need this so much because I have no other way of dealing with this pain. I have nobody to talk to, nobody to help me understand how to move on and stop hurting. Deep down, I know it’s not a solution, just a temporary patch. I know it won’t bring her back. I know it won’t fix me. But it’s all I have to make it better, if only for a moment. 

Without it, the nightmares invade what little sleep I manage to get. Each night spent without a drink or two or three is torturous as I relive her final moments over and over again, powerless to stop the inevitable cycle. 

All I see are her lifeless gray eyes, which stare unfixed at some point in the distance. 

All I hear are the distant sounds of battle, muffled by the ringing in my ears and the overwhelming rush of my own pulse. It’s so loud, louder than the clash of swords, that I almost don’t hear her final words. 

All I taste are the metallic drops of blood that stain her lips as I kiss her a final goodbye before the earth begins to shake around me.

All I feel are Jason’s strong, calloused hands pulling my away from her once I’ve found her again, once the battle is over. And, hours later, I feel the sting of hot water as the shower washes our blood away, two crimson trails spiraling down the drain. 

All I smell are the tendrils of acrid smoke wavering off her burning body. Her shroud just an unembroidered, flat gray, just like the smoke, just like her eyes. 

The contents of this bottle…it gives me a respite from those memories. It stops them from repeating in an endless cycle. It doesn’t remove them entirely, but it makes it bearable…

Does that make me an alcoholic? I guess, maybe. But I don’t care. 

I need it. 

Without it, everything is too much to handle. My heart hurts, but this dulls the ache. My new scars flare with phantom pain, but this takes it away. My eyes burn with stubbornly unshed tears, but this allows them to flow freely down my cheeks. 

I need it because every moment spent without a drop of it in my system is almost unbearable. 

It doesn’t help that I’m still surrounded by her. Even though she’s gone, she’s still here, somehow. I see her sitting amongst her siblings during lunch. I hear her voice, unsure but raised in song, whenever I catch sight of the bonfire pit. Whenever I pass the lake where we shared our second kiss, I imagine she’ll be there, waiting for me. 

So the days I leave my cabin are days I have to regrettably spend sober. Drinking would dull the pain of seeing those places, but I have to keep up appearances. I can pass off the irritability, anxiety, and tremors I experience when I’m not drinking as being sick with grief. Nobody dares question that. 

Better to be grief-stricken than an alcoholic, at least in the eyes of my admirers.

But even that is getting more difficult. It’s harder to get up in the morning, harder to force myself to leave my cabin. So I don’t. I do everything in my power to avoid going out those doors. 

It would probably be best if I left camp, at least for a while. It would give me a break from the memories and the hordes of people that dance around me like I’m some fragile, broken thing. It could give me time to relax, get my head on straight.

But I’m too scared to go home because I know I won’t be able to continue this. I can’t drink at home; I can’t let my mom see me like this. And now, this far in, the prospect of functioning without it is terrifying. 

If I leave my cabin, I’m assaulted by four years’ worth of memories with my best friend. If I go home, I face the never ending pity of my mother and the inability to turn to my only vice. 

I feel like I can’t move. I feel paralyzed. So instead I sit on my rumpled bed in clothes I’ve been wearing for at least three days, maybe more. I don’t remember the last time I stepped outside or got something to eat. Everything’s just…fuzzy. 

Despite the haze, I find myself wondering what my friends would do if they found me like this, a complete mess with a bottle in my palms. 

They don’t know how bad it is; they’ve got absolutely no clue what I do every night. 

Most of them would probably regard me with disappointing pity, their great hero fallen so far. Other would cry. Some people would be angry at me for doing something so unbelievably stupid. 

I wonder how long I’ll be able to hide this from them. How long will it take before someone barges in late at night only to find me red-eyed and shaking in bed?

In hindsight, I’m sure people have noticed…and I hope they’re concerned. They probably just don’t know what to do to help me or even what to say. So they do nothing. They offered their condolences in the beginning, and shared my tears for their own fallen friends. But none of them are still like this. Even her siblings have moved on, to some degree. 

Maybe it’s because they have someone to help them through it. 

Piper and Jason…Hazel and Frank…both couples are so happy together. I’ve even heard rumors that Nico is fooling around with some son of Apollo…Will, I think. Good guy. 

They’re all so happy together. They’ve each found the person that they can lean on for strength and support. 

But I’ll never be happy again, not without her. 

She was my everything. My past, present, and future. 

We had so many plans. We were going to move to New Rome and study at the university. She’d become a famous architect; and I’d been kicking around studying education. When the time felt right, we would get married, just a small affair overlooking to Long Island Sound. And we’d have kids. I was going to make good on all the promises I’d made in the River Cocytus, and we would finally get our chance to live long, happy lives free from the gods’ bullshit. 

It’s not like I’d planned out my entire life or anything. Now all those plans were gone. My dreams of a beautiful future with my best friend were destroyed by one stray sweep of a drakkon’s blade I’d been too slow, too careless, to deflect. 

Her body burned with all the rest of the casualties, wrapped up in a hastily made shroud. Her ghost probably wanders Elysium. Or maybe…maybe she chose reincarnation. We’d never expressly discussed our wishes for the Afterlife. We’d always thought that we would have more time…

Either way, she’s gone. She’s really, really gone. 

And it’s all because the gods couldn’t give me a break. It’s all because the fates were cruel. 

No. No, it’s because of me. 

I was too slow, too stupid, too weak to save her. 

I wasn’t good enough; I’ve never been good enough. Ever, 

Without her, I can’t find the courage to fight, to face the endless amount of days ahead of me. I’m stuck in a confusing world without her. She was my constant advisor, my much smarter other half. I could go to her with anything, knowing that she would still love me, no matter how difficult things got. She was my rock, my soulmate. 

Without her, I’m nothing. Nothing but a washed up hero, a drunk at only seventeen. 

So I raise the bottle, which by now is mostly empty, in some sort of twisted salute. A whisper tumbles past my lips before the darkness rushes me and my head hits the pillow, fingers still wrapped loosely around the bottle. 

“I miss you Annie.”


	2. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my version of Solangelo, everything is hell :P Will tries so hard, but it just never works out. My poor smol ghost boy just can't find happiness...
> 
> Please let me know what you think with a kudos or a comment!

NICO

Hurt- Johnny Cash

People tend to have this misconception about being suicidal. They think that it’s all razor blades against wrists and standing on bridges, threatening to jump. To them, it’s about making those big, life-ending decisions while your love ones plead for you to get help. 

But no, it can be as simple as a thousand little decisions that build up into a dangerous pattern of behavior that nobody seems to take seriously. 

In reality, it’s the decision to forgo food even though you haven’t eaten for a few days. It’s starving yourself without really understanding why. 

It’s staying up for days on end because you can’t bring yourself to sleep unless you’re on the verge of collapse, lest the nightmares make a reappearance. It’s making that decision with the knowledge that you’re going to be expending a stupid amount of energy fighting other people’s battle. 

It’s chain smoking until you feel like you’re going to vomit, except there’s nothing to throw up but bitter stomach acid that stings your throat. 

It’s launching yourself into said battles for the fate of the world knowing that you’re barely holding on as it is. It’s hoping that the next monster you clash with will deliver the unceremonious final blow, and you’ll bleed out on the battlefield like you were always destined to. 

It’s not caring about any of those things; it’s when you draw your sword that it might’ve been your last time seeing the stars or your sister or the boy you were still secretly in love with. 

It’s the constant vacillation between overwhelming numbness and bouts of incredible pain. 

That’s what my life has been like for the past five years. They always said the pain of losing her would fade, but it still hasn’t. Nothing has changed. In fact, it’s only gotten worse over the years. 

Even the introducation of Hazel couldn’t help the numbness. For a split second, I thought that maybe I would actually start to get better with her around. She was enthusiastic about me; it felt like she loved me. Maube I wouldn’t need the blades or cigarettes anymore, with her in my life. 

But I soon realized she would never replace Bianca, and that I was foolish to think she ever could. She’s never going to accept all the awful things about me, the secrets buried so deep she’d never be able to unearth them. I slipped into an indifference towards her once I remembered that she’s a child of the early twentieth century herself. She’d hate me, if she knew the truth. 

Even I hate myself for it, most of the time. 

So it was better this way. On the rare occasions I do have to interact with her, I try my best to pretend to be okay, if only for her sake. I visit and fake smiles because she deserves happiness. I can’t bear to break her heart by revealing the way I really feel. But in the end, if I don’t have feelings for her, I won’t be crushed when she dies her statistically likely, gruesome death. It won’t be a repeat. 

Despite all of that bullshit, I’ve never held a blade to my thigh with the intention of dying, only with the intention of feeling something, anything other than the mental pain. I lived for the burn of the open wounds against rough, tight denim. 

I’m still fighting, and I really don’t understand why. I always keep going no matter how much I hate my place in life, no matter how convinced I am that it’s never going to change. I live with the knowledge that someday I’m going to die, and that that day will probably come a lot sooner that it should. I live knowing that, if it ever became too much to bear, I had a whole host of ways out. I doubt I’ll make it to 18, and I’m fine with that; I’m not meant to exist in the first place, not in this time period at least. 

I know I’m sick. I can feel it in my bones: the overwhelming exhaustion and the darkness that weighed down on me. I know that fighting will be the death of me, but I’m convinced that nobody can change my mind. It’s what I’m used to, what I’ve spent the past few years consumed by. I can’t be changed; I can’t be fixed; I can’t be saved. 

After the war, I planned on returning to my life as it had been before the war with Gaia. I didn’t make exact plans to end my life per-say, but I knew that it was something I was agreeing to by making that choice. Going back to my life of wandering would speed up the process. 

But something’s changed. Someone new has come into my life. 

Will Solace made my life the tiniest bit brighter (no pun intended). 

I’m sure we met before the Giant’s War, but that hardly matters when my first real impression of him is a blonde idiot in pitch black face paint. 

I was…intrigued, to say the least, from that first moment on. I found his stupidity and lightheartedness endearing. He was so goofy and sweet, but still seriously dedicated to his work as our best medic. 

I couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous either. Those messy golden curls, those big blue eyes, the adorable little freckles that dot the bridge of his button nose. And his smile…it was damn blinding. 

He seems so perfect. He reminds me of Percy, in a way. Serious but funny. Sweet but fierce. Powerful but maybe a bit unsure. 

It made me want to bolt the moment I realized it. Even if he’d somehow inherited his father’s disregard for gender in a romantic partner, he would never love me, right? We’re polar opposites. He’s one of the camp’s golden boys; I’m the outcast that would much rather be alone. It seemed like there was no use even entertaining the idea of a relationship. It would just end up being another Percy situation; I knew I couldn’t handle that again. 

You can imagine my distress when he forced me into the infirmary for three days and three nights of constant medical attention, courtesy of Will “Doctor’s Orders” Solace. It was…infuriating. He was bossy, always berating me not finishing dinner or treating my body right. He spent what felt like hours fussing over the state of my (at that point pretty badly infected) werewolf scratches. Even though he did all of it in his normal, joking manner, there was always this seriousness behind it that made me almost think that he cared. I had to assume that he was like that for everyone though; all of the children of Apollo act like that when people are hurt. It’s just the way they are. 

Over the course of those few days, I tried so hard to keep my head down, but no amount of aloofness could save me from the realization that I was once again falling head over heels in love (or perhaps lust?) with a (most likely) straight guy that I barely knew and that was way, way out of my league. 

But, as it turns out, Will isn’t exactly straight. Apparently he’s pansexual, just like most of the Apollo cabin. He revealed it in such a nonchalant way that I almost thought I’d heard him wrong. But he was out and confident and just…completely comfortable with himself. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even think about my sexuality without feeling disgusting and…wrong. 

That was the moment it became more than just a crush. Even though he’d confessed to never actually having dated a guy before, Will was totally open to idea. It wasn’t like being silently in love with Percy, who was 100% straight. With him, there seemed to be a chance, even though it was an infinitesimal one. At the time, I was still so convinced that he would never be interested in an unattractive, self-destructive fuck up like me.

As it turns out, he didn’t think that of me. 

After many awkward conversations at my bedside, he remarked that he was sick to death of my self-deprecation. I’m a child of the Big Three; I’m insanely powerful and a talented sword fighter. I turned the tide of the Battle of Manhattan by recruiting my father; I saved the world by shadow-traveling the Athena Parthenos across the Atlantic. He genuinely believed that I was a hero, on the level of the grand Percy Jackson himself. I couldn’t even argue with him; nobody argued with Will. I just sat there blushing like an idiot. 

We sort of became more friendly after that conversation. It was hardly a normal friendship, and Will’s persistence was mostly responsible for it. I would have been much happier spending my time alone, but he wasn’t going to let it happen. He usually just interrupted my training to bug me about my health. 

But a week after those three days in the infirmary, he nervously asked me to go to the bonfire with him. Instead of replying, I just stood there, staring open mouthed in shock, unable to speak. 

A cute boy was asking me out to a very public function. 

Will asked me out. He could have anyone at camp, but for some reason, he wanted to see more of me. 

I think he panicked a bit at first, probably thinking he misread my signals. By some miracle, I was able to recover, stuttering all the while but still managing to accept his invitation. 

One bonfire turned into two, then a third, then a fourth. I found myself hanging out with him every chance I got, and actually looking forward to it. I would even drop by the infirmary to help out, just so I could see him. At night, we would hang out in my cabin watching movies and just…doing things. 

In the span of two weeks, I found myself with a boyfriend. I could barely admit I’m gay, but I have a boyfriend. And by now, the whole camp knows. I know they suspected something even before things were official. But by now, everyone knows. A lot of people must be skeptical, and I can’t blame them. 

Will is just…I don’t know, a good person. Much better than myself, for sure. Probably better than I deserve. 

He’s fun to be around, always joking and laughing, trying to get me to play along. He’s nice to everyone, even if they’re not all that nice to him. He’s patient and kind and just…great. 

When we’re together, his touch is always gentle, his kisses feather light, peppered across my face. He takes every opportunity he has to tell me that I’m beautiful. And by some miracle, it seems genuine. 

You’d think that having someone so amazing in my life would help me get better, that it would begin to remedy everything fucked up in my life. 

Well, he hasn’t helped. Having him isn’t making it easier. In fact, it might be making it harder. 

I’m still not used to any of it, the touches or kisses or compliments. He’s surprisingly understanding when I protest or blush, always saying that he hopes that someday I’ll understand how he feels. But I’m starting to think that that day with never come. 

And it’s nearly destroying me. 

It’s almost nightfall, and I’m sitting on a rock in the middle of the forest. My hands shake as I bring another cigarette to my pursed lips. The ground around me is littered with spent butts and ash, the only remnants of my latest binge. I’m slowly but surely getting to the point where I feel sick and dizzy; that’s always the goal. 

I can’t help but think of Will when I blow out a puff of smoke. He’s been so adamant about me quitting lately but…but I just can’t. He’s the reason I should be quitting, but he’s honestly the reason I’m out here right now. 

He just…he just tries so hard and he’s so patient, but nothing is changing. I’m still jumpy around him, and I blush like an idiot whenever he goes to touch me, whether we’re in front of people or not, even if it’s totally innocent. 

I can’t bring myself to be shirtless in front of him, even though he’s seen most of my body before. And I can’t even think about exposing…other things…without feeling like I’m going to vomit. 

I close my eyes and take another drag, imaging the look on his face when he sees my scars. I don’t mean the multitude of ones I’ve gained in battle, the jagged scars that crisscross my biceps, chest, and stomach. No, I’m thinking of the ones I’ve given myself, the thin, disturbingly straight white and pink lines that run down the length of my skinny, pale thighs and cut into the scant flesh of my bony hips. 

I imagine disgust, primarily. How could someone do that to themselves? Will is a doctor; he hates causing pain. But here I am, causing pain to myself, completely and totally on purpose. Maybe he could handle the battle scars, they’re a part of our reality, our profession. To him, they might he connote bravery. 

But perhaps that’s not the worst possibility. 

I imagine tears running down his face. I imagine never-ending pity once he finds them. What a poor, sad little boy. Poor, maladjusted, sick fuck. He won’t be able to leave me if he finds out, even if he wants to. He’d feel to guilty; he’d be too afraid I’ll do something drastic and permanent and stupid. He’ll be stuck in a miserable relationship forever because he’s too scared to leave me alone. 

My anxiety spikes at the mere thought. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves better….

I suck in more smoke. Constant, constant, constant. If I keep this up, maybe I’ll feel better. 

I’ve tried to distance myself lately. I can’t deal with it anymore. There’s so much pressure on me to be better just because he’s here, just because I have someone to love me. But he hasn’t made a shred of a difference. 

I know that I’m hurting him by doing it; I know that it’s only making him angry. We fight a lot now, not like we did before. We’ve always “fought”, but those were just arguments over silly, petty things that were forgotten about before the day ended. Somehow, though, the fights are still over silly, petty things, the difference being that I used to let it go. Now I can’t stand to have Will fuss over me or worry about me or nag me about my health. His words dig themselves under my skin

I inevitably snap at him, and things devolve into a full-on shouting match. Will, who always used to be so level-headed, takes on my short temper. I shout until I can’t breathe evenly, until my eyes are red with stubborn tears. And then I run, leaving a dumbfounded Will in my wake, because it’s too much, because I can’t take it. 

And then I come here, where I can chain smoke in peace. It’s a vicious cycle, really. I distance myself; we fight; I do unhealthy things because we fight; we fight more because I do those unhealthy things.

Sighing, I flick the smoldering stub of my last cigarette to the ground, hopping off the rock and twisting my boot-clad food over the remains. 

I just need to let this go. I need to let him go. 

Before he hates me more than he already does. Before the next awful, awful fight. Before I just can’t take it anymore.


	3. The Devil In My Bloodstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.

PERCY  
The Devil in my Bloodstream- The Wonder Years

Sadness seems to be the only constant in my life. It’s always been there, stuck at the back of my mind, hiding itself in the farthest corners of my head. 

Joy, on the other hand, has always been so brief. It’s isolated to small moments: the hazy warmth of my father, my mom’s smile, all the laughs shared with my best friends.

But sadness has a way of blotting out those good moments, making you forget the times when you were genuinely happy. Sadness has a way of consuming you. 

It all started with my childhood, I guess. You’d be hard-pressed to find a demigod with a perfect, happy childhood. It just doesn’t come with the territory. 

There was the moving around (normally associated with demigods anyway) that was made worse by my strong scent. I was never able to make friends, much less keep them for more than a year. I was always the weird new kid, the strange outsider. Nobody wanted the juvenile delinquent at their birthday party. 

Then there was Gabe. That man…no, that piece of shit…he made my life a nightmare for years on end, all broken beer bottles and shouting and degradation. Maybe it didn’t start out that way, but in the end, that’s all home was. As I got older, my mom just pushed me into boarding schools, hoping to lessen the pain. But really, that just made the weeks I did have to spend with him worse. 

I thought being a demigod taught me pain too, both physical and mental. None of us had it easy, but I feel like I never got a break. I was thrown into the thick of it from the very moment I stepped across the camp border (hell, technically even before that), and it took years for it to let up. Every summer was spent fighting monsters and gods and titans in order to buy myself (and everyone else) another few months of peace. 

Really, I should have considered lucky. I have a mom that loves and protects me, and by some miracle she’s still alive. That’s a lot more than other campers have. For so long I’ve had an amazing safety net of friends, all willing to support me through anything. But still…bottom line, I thought I understood pain. I thought that those years were going to be the worst of them all, and that once all these wars were over I would be left in peace. I thought everything would go back to normal, or at least as normal as a demigods life could ever be. 

But I was wrong, so wrong. I’ve never known this kind of hurt. Never, not once in the past seventeen years have I felt pain and sadness this all-consuming. 

Having to tell a ten-year-old kid that his sister was dead because of me hadn’t hurt like this. Watching Silena sob over Charlie’s death (which was also basically my fault) hadn’t hurt like this. 

Bathing in the Styx hadn’t hurt like this. Even Tartarus never hurt this much. Breathing toxic gas, drinking fire, drowning in poison, being burned alive…none of that made me feel this terrible. 

Because during all those moments, all those times of pain and sadness, during their aftermath…she was there. 

She was my best friend, always there for me when I needed her, in any capacity I could imagine. She was a logical advocate, a shoulder to cry on, someone to kiss until all the hurt and anxiety faded away. 

She was everything I could ever need or want. She was my smarter, better other half. She made it easy to smile again, even when the bad memories crept up on me. 

But now she’s gone. 

Gone, gone, gone. 

I close my eyes and the memories of the past few week’ crash over me like a bad movie, consuming me and leaving me shaking. Disjointed images fly by in rapid succession. 

The way her eyes widened as she was skewered by the drakon’s sword, just a few feet away from me. The way she dropped to the ground in a heap, like a rag doll. 

The scream that tumbled past both our lips. And Jason’s shouts too, something unintelligible when he killed the monster just as I dropped to my knees in front of her, my own sword tossed haphazardly (and stupidly) to the side.

The sound of my own heartbeat roaring in my ears, drowning out the sounds of battle. 

Curling my arms around her rapidly limpening form, pulling her close and ignoring the feeling of hot, sticky blood soaking through my shirt. 

Tangled blonde curls. Gray eyes, fearful but rapidly losing their clarity. Pink lips, stained with blood and parting with each shuddering breath. 

Sobbing, begging her to hold on. Praying for an Apollo medic to rush in with some ambrosia and save her. The gut-wrenching pain when I realize they’re not coming. 

Feeling her hand go limp in mine, seeing her eyes go empty. 

And knowing, just knowing, that it’s over. 

A wave of nausea washes over me, leaving me spinning. I shake my head and swallow hard past the lump in my throat, trying to get rid of the awful memories. 

It’s getting to be that time of day again, when I’m left alone to sit in my room in silent reflection. The sun is setting outside my window, and the campers are just starting to settle down for the night. But I’m far from settled down.

My eyes wander to the bottle sitting on my dresser. I haul myself out of bed and shuffle across the room. The heavy, cold weight feels comfortable in my hands as I crack it open, taking a sip. 

I grimace at the taste and cough a little. Drinking straight gin is far from ideal, but it’s all I have at this point. My supply line is tenuous at best, so I can’t afford to be too picky. 

Some shady Hermes kid started smuggling in illicit substances after the final battle. There’s always been a tradition of Hermes cabin-led smuggling rings, but to my knowledge they’ve never been this illegal. I guess he figured that everyone was going to be seriously fucked up in the head, and that self-medication would therefore be rampant. He was right, I guess. He seems to be doing good business. 

He deals almost exclusively in alcohol, since it’s probably the easiest thing for him to get his hands on. He must have a fake ID and, since routine and security is still kind of lax at this point, he can probably sneak off into the city. He buries the items in the woods and has convinced some of the Ares kids he supplies to be his bodyguards. 

All he really stocks with any consistency is beer: the cheap stuff that comes in cans and tastes like watered down piss. It was the kind of stuff Gabe used to drink when he didn’t have the money to spring for something bottled, so of course I wasn’t interested. The smell alone was enough to bring up a cascade of memories I really didn’t need. 

So I buy whatever else he has. Vodka, whiskey, rum, whatever else I can possibly get my hands on. He ups the price of it because I’m the only one that bothers. Most of his customers come in groups and buy a six pack of the cheap beer to split between them. They’re just looking for a little something to take the edge off. Somehow he just knows that I’ll pay anything for the stronger stuff, even though I try not to show how desperate I am. 

I’m going to need to go back to him soon. I’ve gone through most of what I had on me this weekend. I’ve been on a pretty bad bender ever since the anniversary of the final battle and of…of..

I bite down on my lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood. Don’t think about it; don’t think about it. I take another, larger sip of the gin before capping the bottle. Focus on something else, anything else. 

I’ll go see him tonight, I decide. That’ll work, and hopefully he’ll have something I can stomach more easily.

My eyes wander the pine wood dresser. It’s a mess of dirty clothes, food wrappers, and a couple of empty bottles. In the meantime, I should probably clean up. It’s not like I have anything better to do. 

I toss the dirty clothes towards the hamper, silently reminding myself that I should do laundry at some point. Tasks like that have really fallen to the wayside this past month, but part of me wonders when I’ll actually find the energy to do it. Piper will probably break down and rummage through my clothes before I do. I should really prepare for that possibility…

I sweep the rest of the trash into a bin, but I’m left with the small collection of bottles from the past week or so. I toss them under the bed with the rest of the evidence. Even now, I still don’t know how best to dispose of them without getting caught. 

I’m left with a mostly empty surface once I’m done, the key word being “mostly”. Taking a shaky breath, my fingers brush against the stiff cardboard box that’s been sitting here for weeks. It holds all the important stuff that belonged to her. 

After…after it happened, I hadn’t had the strength to go to her cabin and sort through her bunk. I just couldn’t bear to face it. Seeing all her things, having her sibling’s eyes on me. But Piper had been strong enough, apparently much stronger than myself. She and Annabeth had gotten close during their months together; she’d even become something of a mentor to Piper. So she had taken up the task of sorting through everything, along with Malcom. Maybe a week after the final battle, she dropped this box off at my doorstep and told me that everything else was in the attic, if I wanted to go through the rest of it. This was just the stuff she thought I might want. 

I haven’t had the courage to go through the box yet. Every time I tried, I just ended up breaking down and turning to alcohol. But I know I should be at least mostly sober when I do it. She deserves that much. 

Maybe it’s time for another try; there’s no better time than now. I grab the box and bottle of gin, carrying them to my bunk. I sit down cross-legged, and take another gulp of gin. I try to steel myself, reasoning that if I get through this I can drown all the emotions with new (and hopefully better) purchases tonight. 

Shakily, I reach my hand in and pull out the first item I touch. It’s an architecture book, her favorite subject to study. I feel a sharp pang of guilt when I remember that she never got the chance to make her mark on the world. But still, I push on. 

Next, I pull out her dog-eared personal copy of Homer’s epics in Greek. I flip through it, and find that the margins are stuffed with little notes in her neat script. Some pages are even marked by sticky notes, pointing out her favorite quotes and useful passages. This is the book she used to teach me Greek…back when we were just kids…

I quickly peer into the contents of the box and find no other books. How did Piper know to pick these two? I sigh and take another sip. This is the farthest I’ve gotten; I’m not about to stop now. 

I pull out a couple of polaroid photos next. A younger version of the two of us, maybe 13 or 14, smile for the camera. I remember these photos, they were from two summers ago. She’d taken such pride in refurbishing the old polaroid camera she’d gotten as a birthday gift from her dad. I couldn’t look at the pictures for too long though. They bore the tiny holes from being tacked to the walls of the Argo II; I remember seeing them there a thinking that we were so young back then. Our eyes were so lively, our smiles so bright. We were so happy…

I take another sip and begin to question my decision. If I keep it up, I’ll never make it out of my cabin tonight. So I place the box on the floor and the bottle on my bedside table, making sure to set an alarm for later. 

Sleep comes relatively easy. 

When I wake up, groggy with a foul taste in my mouth, it’s nighttime. I continue to lie in bed for a few minutes, trying to will away the nausea that’s settled at the back of my throat. Slowly, I turn to face the alarm clock, pawing at the snooze button. It’s green light glows in the darkness of my cabin. 

I fumble for the light switch and manage to haul myself out of bed, the promise of liquid salvation keeping me steady. I stumble to my dresser and toss on an old zip up, pulling the hood over my head in an attempt to hide my face. 

Peeking out the window to make sure nobody is watching, I slip out my door and make a break for the woods. I uncap Riptide, using it as a light to guide me through the forest. It’s a decent walk to get to the meeting place. He has to keep it hidden after all. 

I finally catch sight of a small clearing in the woods and hide myself behind a tree, taking a look to make sure there wasn’t anyone else buying at the moment. I only see two people, who lounge against a large rock with a small lantern resting on the ground between them. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” I hear a rough voice call out. I shake my head and come out from behind the tree, lowering my hood in the process. 

“Oliver,” I rasp, regarding his with distaste. I really don’t like the guy; he’s so…unnerving. He presents all the worst qualities a Hermes kid could possibly present: a slippery voice, a weasel-like face, a tendency towards illegal shit. Most of them weren’t this awful, really.

“Been a hard coupla days, huh? You look a little worse for the wear,” he remarks, looking me up and down. 

I’m well aware that I look like shit. I’ve got bags under my eyes; I’ve lost weight; I don’t even remember the last time I took a proper shower or shaved. I give him a cold, withering look. 

“Aw, come on, just fucking with ya. Now what’re ya lookin’ for? The usual?”

He leans over the rock and pulls out two bottles of whiskey and rum. Cheap stuff, but better than what I’ve been drinking lately. I wasn’t about to lower myself to beer, even if it would be a whole lot cheaper and perhaps more palettable. 

“Yeah, how much do I owe you?” I ask, pulling out my rapidly dwindling wallet. 

“40’ll take care of it, I think,” he replies, a wicked grin on his face. I grimace at the price, but still toss him two twenties. 

“Y’know, beer would be a lot cheaper,” he teases me, knowing full well that I wouldn’t be buying. 

I turn my back to leave, annoyed at the entire exchange. I stuff the bottles in my jacket, but before I walk too far, he stops me. 

“I’ve got something else you might like, if you’re interested,” he calls after me.   
I turn around and cock an eyebrow. Oliver brings up a hand and gestures for me to come back over. 

Once I’m back, he tosses me a small plastic baggie. Even with my slower reflexes, I manage to catch it. One look, and I know immediately what it is. 

“I’m expanding my business,” he replies nonchalantly. “Gotta couple of Demeter kids supplying me. First sample’s free.”

I eye the baggie skeptically, and look back at him with narrowed eyes. Is this really a good idea?

“C’mon, that’s some quality shit. Spent a lot of time organizing the whole deal. But since you’re such a loyal customer, I’ll throw in all the stuff ya need to get started. If ya ever want more, ya know who to come to,” he replies as he tosses me another bag. 

“Thanks Oliver,” I reply curtly over my shoulder as I walk away, pockets full of alcohol and something I hadn’t exactly been planning on (but that isn’t entirely unwelcome). 

Maybe weed would be a nice change.


	4. The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

Nico  
The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot-Brand New

I’m staring at the ceiling. 

It’s not even a particularly interesting ceiling. There aren’t any cracks to memorize or tiles to count or any way to make this mindless action just a little less mindless. But I keep staring at the flat, black expanse because I can’t tear my eyes away. Maybe if I keep staring, they’ll stay open. 

But deep down, I know it’s pointless. For every minute that passes, my eyelids droop lower and lower. Sooner or later I’ll have to succumb to the exhaustion that’s been building over the past few days.

I’m going to have to sleep, and the thought alone fills me with dread. Because sleep means an endless cycle of nightmares. It means reliving every awful moment of the past few years in a surreal mixture. 

So I try not to let myself slip away. I stay awake as long as I possibly can, desperately latching onto anything that will hold my attention. I read until I get a headache; I draw until my charcoal-stained hand cramps. When it gets really bad, I’m left to survive on coffee and pure willpower, unable to focus on anything long enough to properly distract myself. 

I don’t even attempt sleep every night. In reality, it’s every other night at most and, increasingly often, every two or three nights. 

I know that it’s unhealthy. I know that I should talk to Will. If I actually told him how bad my nightmares are he would send me to Clovis for some kind of sleep magic. He could probably make me something to lull me into a dreamless sleep. I’m sure he’s been getting requests lately, from all the demigods that’d seen too much shit these past few months. But I’m also sure that, even with their own nightmares, other campers never take it this far. 

But I can’t do it. I just can’t talk to him. I’m sure Will knows that I have nightmares; he’d be pretty dense to think otherwise. But I can’t bear to stand in front of him, or anyone for that matter, and admit to the sort of sick, twisted things I dream about. I don’t just wake up a little spooked and fall back asleep after 10 minutes of deep breathing exercises. My nightmares aren’t normal; nothing about me is normal…

My eyes begin to water as my fear-stricken mind drags those memories back to the surface. Suddenly, it feels like I’m back in the Labyrinth, just a scared little kid with nobody to comfort him. My already tired eyes begin to burn as I’m flooded with the memories of my own screams for Bianca. They almost seem real, all high-pitched and echoing through the cavernous stone tunnels. 

I still miss her, even after all these years.

I miss her hugs and her lullabies and the crooning quality her voice had when she consoled me. I want her to be in this room with me. I want her to rub my shoulder and tell me that everything is going to be okay, just like she always used to. 

I can’t have her; I know that. But..,but maybe I could have him…

I want him in this bed with me right now. I want him to hold me close and kiss me senseless. I want to fall asleep in his arms, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady. And maybe, just maybe, the nightmares wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he could take it all away. 

I swallow hard past the rapidly growing lump in my throat and rub my face out of frustration, willing my eyes to stay dry. I can’t let myself get worked up. If I had the energy, I’d do something, anything, to keep myself awake and distracted. But I’ve read my meager collection of books and my hands have long since started cramping up. 

At this point, all I can manage is lying on my rumpled bed, splayed out in only my boxers. My arm is draped lazily across my concave stomach; my fingers skim across icy skin made even colder by the frigid air of my cabin. Every so often they graze against an old scar or an odd protrusion of bone, forcing me to swallow even harder as the lump in my throat grows. Disgusting…how could Will ever think I’m beautiful…how…

Slowly, I turn my head, and a twinge of pain shoots through my neck. Grimacing in discomfort, I catch sight of the alarm clock resting on my bedside table. The electric green numbers blink back at me, almost teasingly. 

2:30 in the morning. 

It’s a fucking miracle I’ve made it this long. I’ll only have time for 5-ish hours of sleep, if I can even manage that. Will is surely going to be banging on my door bright and early this morning, ready to drag me to breakfast intent on force feeding me. 

I sigh and resume staring at the ceiling. I don’t know how long I lie there, but it’s getting harder and harder to stay awake. My body feels heavy, matching the sinking feeling in my chest. Every blink is longer than the last, and I know it’s coming soon. There’s absolutely nothing I can do. 

Eventually, I blink for the last time.

…

I’m in the jar again. 

This is how they always start. I’m alone and suffocating, slowly dying with no hope of rescue.

The only sound comes from my heartbeat. The rush of blood echoes through the tiny, enclosed space. My breathing has already slowed to an almost nonexistent, shaky wheeze; my lungs can barely manage to pull in what little oxygen is left in the thin air. I don’t have the energy to scream or claw at the smooth, earthenware surface anymore. 

I don’t even have the energy to open my eyes. It’s pointless anyway; my sword only provides a tiny halo of light. It’s only enough to see the murky brown surface of the jar and the hastily scratched tally marks. It used to be enough to count the pomegranate seeds lined up at my feet but…but…

There are no more seeds. I’m out of time…

With each passing second, I feel my heartbeat slow. I’m out of time...

Beat. 

Fear spikes through my foggy mind. This is how I’ll die. 

Pause.

Alone and starved and terrified. 

Beat. 

No blaze of glory. No bang. Not even any pain.

Pause. 

Nobody to save me, and no way to save myself. 

Beat.

It’s too late.

Pause. 

Pause. 

Pause. 

Everything is silent. No more breath, no more blood rush. 

Nothing. 

…

Eventually, sounds and smells sharpen from the indistinct darkness. 

The scent of dust and blood invades my nostrils, so strong that I can taste it. I can hear the faint, muffled howls of monsters off in the distance. But more noticeable is the soft crunch of footsteps walking across dry grass. 

My heart skips a beat. I don’t even need to look to know where I am. I know these sounds, these smells. I know what’s about to happen. 

“Open your eyes, son of Hades,” a slippery voice whispers in my ear. Cold lips press against its shell, leaving behind a sticky residue.

I crack my eyes open and crane my neck to the side, swallowing hard. I catch sight of her. 

Achlys, goddess of misery.

Blood, so dark it’s almost black, is smuged under her cold eyes and smeared across her hollow cheeks. Pink-tinged tears make track marks down her chalky white face. The tangeled black hair that obscures part of her face and spirals down her back is woven with purple aconite blossoms. 

With a rustle of fabric, she’s moving to my other shoulder with the fluid grace of a snake. Delicate hands run across my back and come to rest at the nape of my beck. Her razor sharp nails graze against my skin, swirling in languid motions.

“Oh my little hero,” she breathes in my ear. “Still so full of misery and pain. And here I was thinking Aphrodite had given you a break?”

I swallow hard and breathe in through my nose, inhaling the overpowering scent of dust. I keep my mouth a tight line, desperate not to betray my emotions.

“She’s gifted you with that Solace boy, hasn’t she? Oh, even his name is a delicious little pun,” she whispers. A harsh, throaty chuckle slips past her bloodstained lips. 

“Solace…something that gives comfort and relief in the face of misery. But we both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

I close my eyes and shudder. This is new. She’s never brought up Will before. 

“He’s a doctor, isn’t he Nico?”

I nod slowly, biting down hard on my lower lip. 

“He lives to protect and heal, doesn’t he Nico?”

I nod again, a knot of dread forming in the pit of my stomach. 

“Then how can he be expected to love a murderer?”

My stomach drops. My blood runs cold. 

“Do you remember Bryce Lawrence?” she whispers, voice filled with a renewed sense of venom. 

My eyes fling open at the mention of that name, the one I’ve spent the past month trying desperately to forget, to push from my mind.

Standing only a foot away from me is Bryce, his face contorted into a gruesome grin, yellow teeth bared in a feral snarl. Pond scum-colored eyes, completely devoid of life, stare down at me. It’s as if he’s frozen in time, eternally glaring down at me. 

With another rustle of fabric, Achlys is standing at the figure’s side, giving me full view of her face. Her thin fingers dance across his shoulder and run along his jawline, turning it into smoke with her touch. She continues until the body is nothing but a spirit swirling around the both of us, crawing up my legs, digging smokey claws into my flesh. 

“You killed him, Nico,” she coos, strips of black fabric slipping from her sloped shoulders. “And it wasn’t even an accident; you meant every single action that day. You relished in it, didn’t you? Loved the rush it gave you.”

I can feel the bile rising in my throat. 

“And for that, the Solace boy will never love you. Sooner or later, he’ll see you for what you truly are…” 

I begin to shake, tears rolling off my eyelashes, down my cheeks, off the tip of my nose. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the droplets continue to leak. My breathing comes in shuddering gasps at this point, both from her words and the pain of the monster slowly climbing its way up my torso. 

She takes my face in her icy hands. The pads of her thumbs brush away my tears; her long fingers massage my hairline. 

“My own…little…monster,” she simpers, drawing out each word. She places a delicate kiss on my cheek, leaving a smear of blood. 

As soon as she removes her hands, I crumple to my knees and allow Bryce’s spirit to suffocat4e me. 

I deserve this. I deserve pain. I deserve death. 

I’m a murderer. I’m a monster. Will could never love me. 

The last thing I hear before everything goes black is Achlys’ cackle, echoing in the rapidly approaching darkness. 

I’m her monster…

And I always will be.


	5. Vacant Homes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cross-post w/ FF.net*
> 
> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

PERCY  
Vacant Homes- Movements

It feels like everyone is staring at me, boring holes through me. They’re watch me intently, some curious and some with sad eyes. A hush has fallen over the dining pavilion as everyone ceases whatever loud conversation they’d been wrapped up in. 

A few beat pass before most people return to their food and conversation. Some continue to stare, even if they’re trying to pretend they aren’t. Others whisper quietly amongst themselves as I pass. A younger kid, maybe 8 years old, points at me. 

I don’t blame them, really. I’m a rare sight around camp these days, so plenty of people must be curious. Most of the time I don’t leave my cabin, especially not when there are so many people around. There’s no real reason to. If I’m going to bother eating, Jason and Piper usually break down and leave a plate by my door. 

But I’m past due for an appearance, so here I am, stumbling into lunch after only just waking up. Strong sunlight beats down on the tables, leaving my squinting. I’ve become so used to the darkness of my cabin, seeing as I always keep the blinds closed. 

I shuffle down the long aisle towards the buffet, feet passing over the familiar crack in the marble. 

My mind drifts back to that horrible memory of a 10 year-old Nico. I remember it all with way too much clarity: his tears after I told him Bianca was gone, his screams as he blamed me, the horrible sounds of the marble and earth splitting at his command. 

I pick my head up and scan the tables for him, suddenly wondering if he’s still here. I don’t remember the last time I talked to him, let alone saw him. I probably haven’t sat down to have an actual conversation with him since the first war ended…maybe even before that…

He could’ve already returned to the Underworld for all I know. 

But I finally see him sitting hunched over in the farthest corner of the pavilion. His shoulders are curled in, like he’s trying to disappear. He looks about as worn out and exhausted as me, somehow. Every so often his head dips, his chin bumping against his collarbone like he’s about to fall asleep. 

I grab a plate of pizza and turn towards the direction of his table, only to watch Will Solace swoop in next to him and place a quick kiss on his cheek. Nico doesn’t really react, instead continuing his indifferent stare after a very brief acknowledgement of Will.

My heart sinks. I can’t sit with him anymore, can I? That’d been my first thought upon seeing him but…no. I quickly take a seat at a nearby empty table, facing the two of them. I watch as Will leans closer and brushes the hair from Nico’s face, long fingers tenderly stroking his cheek. 

I drop my head and stare at my untouched lunch, trying hard to swallow past the rapidly growing lump in my throat. 

So it’s true then. I’d heard rumors, sure, but I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. 

Nico has a boyfriend. 

Nico, the kid that was supposed to be perpetually alone, has a boyfriend. I don’t even care that he’s gay or bi or whatever he identifies as. It’s just that he has….someone. 

Someone to comfort him. Someone to hold him and kiss him. Someone to tell him that everything’s going to be alright, even when everything feels like it’s falling apart. 

He has someone to love him, unconditionally and unequivocally. 

Deep down, I know I should be happy for him. He deserves to have someone who cares about him, and I know that Will’s an amazing guy. I’ve known him as long as I’ve been at camp. He’s…he’s kind and dedicated and smart. He’ll be good to Nico. 

But I can’t lie and say that I’m happy for him; I really can’t. 

I’m upset and angry and just…just…

I take a shaky breath and close my eyes. I can’t really be thinking like this, can I?

Most of his misery was my fault after all, right? I was the one that got Bianca killed because I wasn’t strong enough to save her; I was the one that never searched for him in the Labyrinth because I was too preoccupied with stupid bullshit; I was the one that couldn’t help him before the worst damage was done, before Minos fucked him up even worse than I did. I’m not even the one that saved him from the jar. 

It’s different now. He’s just got to be happy now…with Will…

I’m his cousin; I’m supposed to be happy for him. This is my chance to make things right. I’ve missed so many opportunities to encourage him over the years that I can’t miss this one. I feel guilty enough about not playing a bigger positive role in his life. 

But instead of taking this as a chance to be happy for someone who needs (and deserves) it, I’m angry. I’m so, so angry that I don’t have that anymore. 

I’m upset that Nico, of all people, has someone. I could cope with Piper and Jason…Frank and Hazel…but Nico…

I thought for a split second that maybe we would be able to connect, to share in our loneliness, in how truly fucked up life was. That’s why I thought I could sit with him…

But he won’t need that anymore. He’s working to get better, and Will is going to help him get there. 

I saw the smile on Will’s face when he caught sight of Nico. I saw the way his fingers gently rubbed his tender cheekbones. I see the way Will looks at him now, like he’s the most precious thing in the whole world. It’s how I used to look at her…

I’ll never get to look at her that way again. 

 

She should be here right now, eating lunch with me on this sunny morning. We should be coming off a morning of sword fighting and rock climbing. We should be goofing off in the strawberry fields before collapsing in a fit of giggles. She should be the one swooping in behind me and kissing me on the cheek and calling me Seaweed Brain. 

I’m not going to be okay. 

I don’t have anyone anymore. I don’t have a Will to help me through this. I won’t have one….probably ever. 

I can feel my throat closing up. I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s like my mind is screaming.

You’re alone. 

You’re alone.

You’re alone. 

You’re so fucking alone. 

I try to keep my breath from quickening to a rapid pace. I have to remind myself that I’m still in public, in the middle of lunch. I can’t fall apart like this, not here, not now. There are too many people, too many prying eyes, too many…

A sudden bang resounds through the open air of the pavilion. Everything else goes silent. It takes me a few moments to realize that I’ve slammed my closed fist on the table. 

Shocked, my eyes dart around, bouncing from table to table. A handful of people glace sidelong in my direction. Some straighten their backs a little, covertly looking for the source of the sudden noise. 

My eyes dart straight ahead, and there he is. Nico’s impossibly dark eyes, huge and rimmed in dark circles, stare right through me. 

They’re staring. They’re all staring. 

Slowly, in a futile attempt to avoid suspicion, I rise and speed-walk to the bronze brazier in the middle of the buffet. I toss my food in untouched, without even saying a prayer. 

All I can think of is running, getting far away from all these eyes. I have to go now, before someone tries to stop me. Before I completely fall apart…

On my way out, I stumble past Piper and Jason, my shoulder harshly colliding with his bulky one. I skid to a stop for a moment to correct myself, but they just look at me with shock and confusion written on their faces. 

I ignore his futile attempt to grab my wrist. I ignore her calls for me to come back. I ignore all the strange looks I’m getting for the stragglers just making their way to lunch. 

I break into a jog, then a run. I need to get away…

My cabin swims into my vision. I scramble for the doorknob, fingers knocking around as I shake. Steady, steady, steady. Stop shaking so you can get the fucking door open. 

I manage to throw it open, finally slamming it shut as soon as I slip through. I’m greeted to the same cluttered, darkened cabin. Empty…

I sink down, my back flush against the door. My knees come up to my chest, thighs pressed tightly against my stomach.

I’m alone. 

The dam breaks completely as what little vision I have left is flooded with tears. The lump in my throat makes it so that every gasp for air is short and shallow. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten this…this bad, like not being able to breath or think or do anything. It used to happen a lot more when I was little, mostly because of all the shit Gabe put me through.

It’s happened since then, plenty of times. It never actually stopped, really. Sometimes the stress and grief and fear get to be too much. For so long I kept it hidden because I had to be strong for everyone else. 

But she found out, eventually, just like she always did. She barged in on me a few days after the Battle of the Labyrinth, while my mind was conjuring up horrible premonitions for the upcoming year. 

Instead of running away in disgust at the state of me…she stayed. From that moment on, she was always there to calm me down when I needed her. We would count to ten, slowly, forwards and backwards. She would rub circles on my back and run her fingers through my hair and brush the tears from my face. 

For a small amount of time, I didn’t have to go through it alone. 

A soft knock drags me out of my stupor for a second. Some desperate, deluded, depraved part of me thinks that it’s her. 

Reality slaps me harshly across the face. 

It’s not her out there. She’s not here anymore. She’s never going to be here. 

I’m alone. 

So, so fucking alone…


	6. Jar of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cross-post w/ FF.net*
> 
> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this angst fest so far. Constructive criticism greatly appreciated!

NICO  
Jar of Hearts- Christina Perri

It’s hard to describe what’s going on. No matter how many times this happens, I still can’t properly make sense of it. I know that I should talk to someone…someone that knows about these things. But I can’t…I can’t even explain what’s going on. 

I know I’m at lunch; I managed to shuffle in ten minutes after the horn was blown. But it doesn’t feel…right. 

It’s as if a cold fog has settled over the dining pavilion, obscuring its usual technicolor brightness. I should be awash in a sea of tan skin and orange shirts and blue sky, but instead the campers that float past my hooded eyes are covered by a veil. It reduces them to indistinct shapes; it blurs their borders. Now they’re just one, roiling mass of muted colors. 

The volume of the horde’s conversation fluctuates unnaturally. One moment everything is deadly silent and the next one indistinct voice is rising up. Soon the one voice is swallowed up by the growing rumble of whispers before it morphs into a cacophony of mindless chatter. 

What’s wrong with me?

I close my eyes and lower my head, begging under my breath for it to stop, for everything to go back to normal. I’m scared. I’m so scared every time I get like this because I’m afraid it’ll never end, that I’ll be stuck in this endless fog forever. 

I know that it’s not plain exhaustion. I’ve felt that before. It’s all I’ve felt for the past several years, really. At this point, I could spend a week in a coma and still only make a dent in my years’ accumulated sleep debt. 

No, a good night’s sleep free of horrid dreams won’t fix it. 

I don’t know if anything will. 

I’m afraid that this is madness, true madness like nothing I’ve felt before. They’ve called me crazy before, many times. They’ve swapped stories about me by the fire: the crazy Ghost King, the master of shadows, the sociopath that dwells in the darkest corners of the Underworld, the necromancer that communes with the dead. 

I can’t talk to anyone about it, can’t even think about it. For if it is what I fear, I’ll be condemned even further. They’ll push me from camp, back to the Underworld where I belong. 

They must be right. It’s like…like nothing’s real anymore. The stone under my feet, the bench I’m sitting on, the fork dangling from my hand…they don’t even feel solid. 

This could be the beginning of my madness. It must be. 

Nothing’s real…nothing…

Well, except for…

As if on cue, my leg throbs, a flash of heat crawling across my skin. Slowly, I inch my palm towards my thigh and press down. Another flash of pain. Surely blood soaks further into the sloppily applied bandages, maybe even spotting my jeans. 

I need this. The actual act of digging the blade into my skin wasn’t enough, not today. I need the pain to stay. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded right now. Each spike of pain is making the world clearer. But to find sanity in pain? It’s still madness, but at least…at least it’s easier to cope with. 

I continue for gods know how long, prodding my wounds, stretching the tight skin. But my hand stills when someone slips onto the bench beside me. I feel the tingle of breath against my neck. Warm lips press against my cheek. A soft “good morning” is murmured in my ear. 

Will. 

My heart flutters as my brain finally allows me to focus on something. I glance over briefly and catch sight of his face, clearer than anything I’ve seen today. His long-ish blonde hair is mussed and still wet from his post-workout shower; his blue eyes sparkle almost as brightly as his freshly brushed teeth. 

Seeing him should make me happy. It should bring me comfort in this difficult moment. His kiss, however chaste, should ground me in reality better than pain ever could. 

But I remain static, suddenly paralyzed with a new fear. One memory in particular floods back as the phantom smell of blood and dust invades my nose again. 

How can he be expected to love a murderer? 

Last night, she forced me to confront a truth I’d been avoiding since the beginning of our relationship. She’s right. It’ll never work out between us; he’s never going to love me once he finds out about the extent of my issues, when he finds out about what I did. 

I’m afraid of him now.

I’m sacred of what he’ll do when he finds out I’m in one of my “moods”, as he so derisively calls them. I’m scared of the fight that’s inevitably going to take place when I try to ditch my daily activities to sulk in my room. 

Those are just the immediate fears. Of course I’m terrified of what he’ll do when he finds about the things I’ve done, to Bryce and myself. 

Deep down, I know that staying with him is pointless. 

Deep down, I know that he’ll never understand what I’ve gone through and continue to go through, and part of me wonders if he’ll ever even try. He’ll just continue to get pissed off at me on my bad days because he can’t understand why they happen. My life is pretty close to perfect, after all. I survived not one but two wars. I’m practically a hero. I have a sister that loves me. Nobody I was too close to died. I’m not being lynched over my sexuality. In fact, a lot of people at camp support us being a couple. 

Still, I know…I know that I need to break up with him, for his sake. I should run away, just like I did all those years ago. I can loot my room in my father’s palace for everything of value. I could hawk it at some mortal pawn shop for cash and do…something…

“-rything okay baby?” 

Suddenly I’m snapped out of my stupor by his voice. Apparently he’d been talking the entire time, and I never noticed. 

“C-can you repeat that?” I ask in a hoarse voice. 

“I was just wondering if you had any ideas for our date today, but you didn’t seem to be listening,” he replies, quirking an eyebrow. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wrack my still foggy head, trying to remember what plans I’d made with him. Had I agreed to it during a bout of exhaustion? 

My stomach drops when I remember it. We’d made plans over two weeks ago to head into the city. It’d taken a lot of convincing, but Chiron finally agreed. Today was supposed to be our day, just the two of us far removed from all the stress of the past few months. 

“I-I…Will, I’m not…f-feeling well. I-I don’t think I can…”

“Oh come on!” he groans, cutting me off. “We’ve had these plans for weeks! You’re really not going because you’re what? A little tired?”

I open and close my mouth a couple times, frantically searching for words to explain it. I feel like shutting down because gods I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and explain the real reason I can’t go, all while he’s yelling at me…

My shoulders curl in involuntarily. My head tips down, a curtain of hair obscuring my face. 

Oh gods, I can’t do this. The fight’s already started; he’s already pissed off at me. 

“Why are you always doing this to me?” he starts, though he thankfully has the decency to keep his voice down. “I’m trying to make this whole thing work but you bail on me every single time I try to make plans! Do you even want to be together anymore? Huh?”

“I-I…I’m s-sorry but…” I stutter, before I’m cut off again. But this time, it’s not by Will. 

A loud bang resounds through the noisy dining pavilion, immediately quieting everyone. Some snap into panic mode, hands flying to the weapons that reside at their hips. It only takes us a few seconds to identify the source of the noise. 

Percy is sitting at the table across from me, looking like he’s about to be sick. His face is pale and drawn out; his eyes are scrunched together. His hands are curled tightly into fists brought down against the table. I can see his chest rising and falling quickly, too quickly to be normal. Even from here, I can see him shaking. 

Concern spikes through me, almost enough to make me forget about the situation at hand. I try to remember the last time I saw him, maybe a week ago. He looked bad back then, but not this bad…

Part of me chides myself. Why should I be worrying about him when I’m practically imploding myself? But Percy…he isn’t supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to be my shining hero. 

I guess I should’ve known that he’d be damaged. He’s been hiding out ever since it happened, withdrawing from everything. But I’d hoped, probably like everyone else, that his reclusiveness would dissipate as time passed. I hoped that he would spend a month as a shut in, trying to come to terms with his loss, only to eventually start facing reality. 

From the look in his eyes during our brief moment of eye contact, it doesn’t look like that’s happened. 

He looks shattered. 

I watch as he rises from the table and frantically tosses his food in the brazier. He speed walks away, pushing through groups of people. By the time he reaches the archway, he’s practically running. 

“What was that about?” Will wonders out loud, momentarily abandoning our argument in favor of dissecting the formerly great hero’s behavior. 

Before he can suck me back into the fight, I choke out that I have to go. I run after Percy, leaving Will far behind. I know he’ll probably follow me in an attempt to continue talking even though I clearly don’t want to. 

I slow to a stop when I see Percy slip into his cabin. I’m being faced with a choice. 

Now that I’m free from Will, I can go back to my room and lock the door. Will won’t be able to get in, so I’ll be left alone. He’ll probably stand outside my door shouting for a few minutes, but eventually he’ll go off and resume his plans.

Or I could go after Percy. I could knock on his door and try to help, because in some way I know where he’s at right now. I know what’s probably going on behind that locked door all too well. 

But is it worth trying? Is he even worth helping? 

My mind skips through all the major moments in our horrible excuse for a relationship. 

Him telling me Bianca was dead. Finding each other in the Labyrinth. His fifteenth birthday and the blue cake. Watching, choked with anxiety, as he bathed in the Styx. When he told me he didn’t trust me anymore. His face hovering over me as I regained consciousness after my torture in the jar…

There are so many moments that should convince me that helping him is a bad idea. He’s hurt me, ignored me, forgotten me. He made me feel worthless when he didn’t search for me. He ripped my heart in two when he said he didn’t trust me, even though what happened wasn’t my fault and he knew it. 

But still, I find myself drawn to his cabin. My feet instinctively shuffle that way. Step by step, I get closer. 

I know it’s dumb to care about him when I have problems of my own. I know that I probably won’t be able to help much, seeing as I barely know how to handle myself when I get like that. And, most importantly, I know he’ll never love me, not in the way I’ve always wanted. He can’t. Nobody can, really. 

Still, I knock on his door. Once, then twice. Even through the door I can hear the heavy breathing and deep sobs I’ve become accustomed to hearing from myself. 

“Percy?”


	7. Empty Picture Frames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cross-post w/ FF.net*
> 
> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half. 
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo. 
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden. 
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to clarify what's going on with Will in this story. A few commenters raised the concern that he was being too mean. Well, he's not necessarily a mean-spirited person; he simply doesn't understand what Nico's going through. In his mind, Nico should be better simply because he has a boyfriend. Will believes that he is in love with Nico, and does everything he's been taught (like organizing cute trips into the city) to prove it.
> 
> But clearly, Nico isn't getting better. Nothing Will is doing is working like it should. He'd been so looking forward to the trip and a chance to be alone together. He feels like he's trying to do all the right things, and Nico just keeps pulling away (which he actually kind of is).
> 
> So I hope that clarified some of the finer points of Will's role. I got a lot of comments about how Will was being to mean. And yeah, maybe he was a little harsh. But that also wasn't the first time Nico's went back on plans. He's reaching the end of his rope, and he's not sure how to properly deal with any of this.
> 
> Hence the lashing out. I hope that clarifies the why of the whole thing. I'm not trying to demonize Will at all, but I'm simply trying to be a bit more realistic.

PERCY 

Empty Picture Frames- Real Friends

I ignore the first knock. I barely heard it over the thunder of my own heartbeat, and part of me wonders if it was even real. It must’ve been my mind playing tricks on me, conjuring up what I wanted to hear most. Her and her comfort…her soft touches…her kiss…

But now…now…

There’s another knock, just as soft as the first, just as easy to miss. It pulls me back down for a second. One knock could’ve been my mind playing tricks on me. But two?

Another knock. 

“Percy?” calls a small, hesitant voice. Now, this I’m not imaging. It’s a familiar voice, but one I can’t place. It’s not…not her. It’s not Piper or Jason either, the only people left that might fight to get inside. It could be someone else, some innocent camper that has no business worrying about me. But that seems unlikely, doesn’t it?

Maybe if I could manage to breath for a second, I could figure out some way to get them to go away. 

Before I could calm myself down enough to choke out an excuse, the voice calls out again. 

“Please open the door.”

My heart clenches and my thoughts race all over again. No, no, no. I can’t open it. I curl further inward, wrapping my arms tighter around my legs. I want to scream for them to go away, but that’d never work. It would only make things worse. 

She’s the only one that was ever supposed to see me like this; she’s the ONLY one that I was ever going to open up to. Not my mom, not my father, not Paul. Not Grover or Jason or Piper or…or anybody else. 

She always kept it quiet, just between us. But this person on the other side of the door…they’ll send for Chiron, who’ll send for my mom or…or gods’ forbid my father. 

My breathing speeds up, almost impossibly, at the thought of any of them knowing. All their kind faces, distorted in pity, flash in front of eyes squeezed shut out of fear. 

One look at this room and they’ll know; it won’t take them long to discover that something’s really, really wrong with me. All they’ll have to do is pull up the rumpled blankets to reveal a horde of empty bottles under my bed. 

Instead of being angry, they’ll assure me that it’s going to be okay, that we can fix this. I just need to talk to someone or take some pills or go somewhere upstate with pine forests and padded rooms and doctors in pristine white lab coats. 

Chiron will give me a speech about loss, his impossibly old brown eyes sad, his brow furrowed in grave concern. My dad would try the same. They’re both immortal; loss is just an endless cycle for them. Children and heroes and lovers….all gone. 

My mom…she’d cry for her lost son as much as she’s cried for her lost (almost) daughter. She…she loved her a lot too. I think I forget that sometimes. Annie was there for her when I couldn’t be, when I was stuck gods know where doing gods know what. They bonded over their shared loss and fear for my safety, probably thinking they were going to be family someday. Mother and daughter-in-law. 

This has to be hard on her too, and still I can’t bear to be there for her. I haven’t seen her in weeks, and somehow it doesn’t even bother me. It’s easier to be alone. If she doesn’t see me like this, maybe she can still pretend that I’m slowly getting better, that I’ll come home in September acting like her same old son. 

She’d be so disappointed seeing me like this…after everything we went through with Gabe. They’ll pretend that they’re not, but in the end that’s all I’ll ever be. 

A disappointment…a fuck up…

“If you don’t open the door, I’ll come in anyway.”

Before I can even fully process what that statement meant, an abrupt thud resounds from the farthest, darkest corner of the room. I pick my head up just long enough to see a shape emerge from the shadows. It wavers for a moment, grabbing the edge of my dresser to steady itself. After a few seconds, it staggers towards me. 

It finally dawns on me. There’s only one person there that could’ve gotten in without me opening the door, only one person that could appear from the shadows like that. 

No…no. Not him. He’s the absolute last person I want to see…

The footsteps come closer and closer. 

“Percy?”

It’s the same small, timid voice I hear just moments ago on the other side of the door. It’s a voice I should’ve recognized immediately, but didn’t because despite our long history, I haven’t talked to him nearly as much as I should’ve. 

His fingers brush against my knee, sending an electric shock through my body. My head shoots up and a pale, heart-shaped face swims into focus, its dark eyes wide with halting worry. 

I drop my head immediately, ragged breath quickening all over again. He’s the one that caused this. If I hadn’t seen him and Will I wouldn’t be like this right now. It wouldn’t feel like a lead weight is pressing down on my chest. I wouldn’t be choking on air. I wouldn’t want to scream until I couldn’t anymore. 

“Please look at me. I-I just want to help. Please.”

It’s not his fault though. He doesn’t know what’s going through my head; he doesn’t know that some stupid kiss set me off like this. How could he?

He’s here, trying desperately to help the horrible, terrible person that’s secretly been begrudging his happiness. 

“Just breath with me, okay? Just breath,” he urges, his initial patience beginning to slip away. He starts counting to five and back. His voice catches every so often, like he’s trying to swallow past a lump in his throat. 

One, two, three, four, five. 

Five, four, three, two, one. 

After some time, the hand that’d been placed on my knee recedes and I hear him shuffle away from me, probably because nothing he tries seems to be working. He stops counting and starts pleading: for me to calm down, for me to breath, for me to just listen to him. Please, please, please just breath. He sounds desperate now; his voice is thin and warbling. 

It finally dawns on me that I’m scaring him. He probably thinks I’m a freak at this point, unable to control my most basic functions. He’s not wrong. I know I’m crazy…I know it…

But I have to breath, if only to get rid of him. Just breath, in and out to his steady count. His hand finds its way to me knee again, fingers awkwardly skimming the rough fabric in circular motions. 

He lets out quiet affirmations as my breath begins to trickle out in longer, more practiced streams. 

“See, it’s alright.”

“You’re doing great.”

After what seems like hours, the tension in my chest muscles lightens to the point where my heart doesn’t feel like it’s being gripped in a vice. But I’m still shaking like a leaf. My limbs feel like heavy jello. 

I find the courage to raise my head, and there he is, hovering in front of me. The familiar large eyes and small, sloped nose I’d known for years. 

“Come on,” he whispers, his own shaky hands gently prying my arms away from my torso. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Somehow, despite our size difference, he manages to help me stumble to my feet. Once my shins hit the edge of the bed, I collapse, flopping onto the bed. I lay face down, limbs sprawled in multiple directions. My eyes flutter open and shut as I continue to breath to my own count, one I’d picked up where he left off. 

He starts to work with a small frown on his face, taking off my shoes and socks, ridding me of my rumpled, dirty zip up. I passively move whenever he nudges me, too exhausted to bother protesting. He reluctantly leaves me in my jeans, obviously not wanting to cross some line. 

I shift my head to the side a little to get a better look at him. He looks so concerned, his thin brows drawn together tightly. Hesitantly, his hand recedes from my shoulder, only to come up and brush some stray hairs from my face. His movements are so tender, so familiar…

It’s exactly what she used to do, when the worst of it was over. I lean in a little closer, letting him card his fingers through my hair. I let out a long breath, forcing the thoughts of her out of my mind. I can’t think about that, not now, not after what happened. 

A few minutes later, I’m fading in and out of consciousness, exhuastion finally starting to take hold of my foggy brain. Maybe, since I’m this tired, I’ll be blessed with a dreamless sleep. Still, I feel his cold hand resting on my head, refusing to move. He’s still here…waiting, I guess. 

Finally, my eyes close and right before sleep takes me, I feel it. I don’t believe it at first; it must be another phantom sensation. It was the brief. 

But it was real. Cold and dry against my forehead, but unmistakable. 

A kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Criticism? Ideas? 
> 
> Also, as a final note, I urge everyone to give the songs I provide with every chapter a listen. They're from some of my favorite bands/artists, and I'd love for someone people to get to discover some new music. If you listen, let me know what you think!
> 
> Hope to be back soon!


	8. The Beast in Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cross-post w/ FF.net*
> 
> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the depressing shit!
> 
> But please, please tell me what you think of the story so far. I haven't been getting many reviews lately ( and I don't think I got any for the last chapter). If I get reviews, I'm always a lot more motivated to write. It makes me feel like people are actually reading it and actually care. 
> 
> Also, I once again urge you guys to check out some of the songs I've included in the titles. 
> 
> But, otherwise, I hope to be back soon with a new chapter!

NICO  
The Beast in Me- Johnny Cash

After the events of this morning, I tried to go back to my cabin. 

I thought I would be able to fall back asleep after I’d calmed down some, considering I was absolutely exhausted and liable to pass out. But after everything that’d just happened…that wasn’t an option. My head is racing; all I want to do is pace. But my dark room is still cluttered with crumpled paper, dirty clothes, and tacked up charcoal drawings. I can’t handle the mess right now. I just have to get out; it’s starting to get claustrophobic. So I grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off my dresser and make a run for it. 

I end up wandering the woods for a while, trying my best to keep to the shadows. A few of the clearings are still buzzing with activity. Young campers even roam the outskirts of the forest with guides, perhaps hoping to fight with a small monster and test their newfound skills. For the most part, I was able to avoid them all. 

I’m just thankful that my usual spot is tucked so deep in the woods that nobody ever goes there. I drop to the ground, a thick layer of pine needles cushioning my fall. I push my back against the weathered rock and pull out my lighter, flipping the cool metal object in my hands. 

After lighting what will likely be the first of many cigarettes, I let the small flame linger for a few seconds longer. I’m so tempted…but ultimately I release the striker. Maybe smoking will clear my head enough so that I won’t have to resort to…that…

I suck in a deep breath of smoke and hold it in before exhaling deeply. I lean my head against the rock and watch the thin wisps of smoke float amongst the dizzyingly tall pines. I let out a shaky breath before taking another drag. 

Today has been so fucked up…

My fight with Will was difficult enough to handle. 

At some point, he’s going to break up with me. It has to happen soon, right? He’ll finally realize that I’m not worth it, that nothing he can do is going to change the fact that I’m fundamentally fucked up. 

A wave of nausea hits me when I remember the way things used to be. It was so easy in the beginning, when everything was still new and exciting. I used to think that I could change, and that Will would be the one to save me. If I went to the bonfires with him, maybe I’d be happy. If I listened to his compliments, if I let him kiss me, maybe I wouldn’t hate my body so much. 

But that’s not how it worked out. 

I want to feel comfortable around him; I want to be able to confide in him all the fucked up things that run through my head. I want him to hold me when I can’t breathe. I want him to see my scars and still want to kiss me. I want him to tell me that it’ll be okay. 

I want the old Will, the sweet doctor that swept me off my feet and gave me a chance, however fleeting, to feel good about myself. 

But I can’t have that. The things that I want most are the things just out of my reach. I’ve destroyed that, haven’t I? I’ve managed to destroy the charming, handsome, wonderful boy that got so nervous the first time he asked me out. Instead he’s been replaced by an angry, combative person.

I’m poison, aren’t I?

He just has to understand it at some point, that all his efforts have been pointless, that no amount of bonfires or playful nagging or cute couple trips are going to change me. Maybe today was the last straw; maybe he’ll finally cut his losses and attempt to salvage what’s left of himself. He still has a chance to rebuild everything I destroyed. It’s all my fault, after all. He’s still a good guy, underneath all the bullshit. I bring out the worst in him. 

I need to do something before I ruin him more, before I drag him down with me. I should be the one leaving him. But I’m a coward. I’m a fucking coward that can’t face him, that can’t bear the thought of another fight.

I could always set him free in another way.

I could end it…all of this bullshit. One move and I can end the hurt…the constant nightmares and stupid fights with stupid people…

It would be so easy to disappear, to walk away from it all. Hazel would feel it, in those final moments, but by then it would be too late…

I flick away the smoldering remains of my first cigarette and immediately grab for the haphazardly discarded carton. By this point, my hands are so shaky that it takes me a few seconds longer to light the next one; my fingers keep slipping against the striker, making the flame flicker in and out. I take a long, greedy drag once it’s lit, but it catches in my throat and I can’t help but cough. 

I shake my head and resume smoking once the spasms calm down. Those thoughts have always been nagging at back of my mind, but it’s been a while since I thought about it serious. When things were bad…really bad…it always bubbled to the surface, but during those episodes it always felt…desperate. Now those thoughts were almost…rational…cold…

Gripping the carton and lighter tightly in my hand, I rise on achy joints and begin walking again, lazily bringing the cigarette to my lips as I walk. I need to get out of here, away from camp and any chance of confrontation with Will or Percy. I don’t trust myself around either of them right now…

I walk into the shadows and make the quick jump to my cabin, eager to avoid being spotted. A strong bout of dizziness hits me the moment my feet hit the stone floor of my cabin, but I push through the urge to collapse. After on last drag, I stamp out the cigarette in the makeshift ashtray sitting on my bedside table. 

I snatch my battered black backpack off the ground and start tossing in miscellaneous stuff. A book, sketchpad, a handful of pens, my cigarettes, a small dagger in a black scabbard, my iPod and headphones. 

My hand lingers on the chunky electronic device for a few seconds longer than necessary, fingers skimming across the scratched black surface. It was an older model, admittedly, but Will had been so happy to present it to me when we were still just barely friends. I’d gotten it on my second day in the infirmary, actually. He dropped it in my lap with a grin on his face and explained that he’d recently gotten a new one and that he thought I might appreciate the distraction. At the time, I wasn’t even sure what to say. I just sputtered out a thank you and shyly looked away. 

Instinctively my thumb drags across the little wheel, scrolling through the playlists. I’ve added my own collection of music since that, from CDs found while scavenging in thrift stores and the Big House attic. But I still remember all the early hours spent pouring over Will’s eclectic, mildly confusing mix of country, pop, and gospel and feeling just the tiniest bit closer to someone I thought was out of my reach…

Swallowing hard, I chuck it in my backpack and zip it up. As an afterthought, I stuff a few bills of mortal money into my front pocket. Maybe I’ll be able to find a sketchy corner store that won’t card me for cigarettes. I can’t help but think I’ll go through a lot today. 

I swing the bag over my shoulders and slip into the shadows, focusing my mind on the abstract concept of Manhattan with no particular qualms about where I end up. It doesn’t matter at this point. 

I guess it’s kind of ironic that I end up spending the day in the city. The first stop was obviously to find the largest, cheapest coffee possible, but after that, I didn’t have any plans.

Every so often, my mind drifts back to Will. A small part of me wonders what his plans would have been. I have to imagine that they didn’t include chain smoking in a shitty bodega parking lot. He’d probably planned a picnic lunch in Central Park, a museum visit, a romantic, candlelit dinner…

All things I don’t deserve…

And that’s exactly why I try to keep myself busy. I wander around most of the time, loitering in front of shops and lounging on park benches. I draw, I read. Mostly I just try to enjoy the fact that I’m invisible out here. Nobody knows me; nobody gives me a second glance. It’s wonderful. 

But by the end of the day, I find myself on the Brooklyn Bridge just as the sunset was coming to a close. Only a sliver of orange-tinged sunlight remains on the horizon. I can’t help but think of Percy as I look across the East River. Instinctively, I light a new cigarette, the last one in the pack. I sigh and scrub my face with my free hand. 

I’ve been trying to keep him out of my mind all day because that was a tangle of emotions I really wasn’t ready to deal with. With Will, the feelings of inadequacy and the fear of poisoning him with my bullshit existence weren’t really…new. Sure, they were still painful to deal with, but they’d been around for so long. 

But with Percy…somehow it still felt fresh, even after half a decade of pining and pain. My eyes flutter closed and my mind flashes back to earlier today. His labored breathing, the sound of his cries. The way my voice trembled as I tried to count down from ten, my own panic mounting with each passing, unsuccessful minute. 

It was truly horrible watching someone that I used to love go through that, especially when you understand all too well what it feels like. 

Who am I trying to kid though? I never really stopped loving him. I wish the feelings would just go away; I wish it would stop hurting. But I don’t think it ever will. 

I shudder at the memory of that kiss to his forehead, however brief it was. That was a huge mistake, an afterthought I should have ignored. It’s the only time I’ve ever showed even a hint of my true feelings. I’ve been so careful about covering it up…pretending that I hate him when in reality… 

Of course, there’s a chance he might not remember it. I have to hope for that because I just…I can’t explain to him why I did it. I can’t admit that I’ve had a crush on him for years…

I don’t think I can see him anymore. I don’t think I can watch him hurt like that and not be able to help…

The stretch of water in front of me seems so inviting now. I pick my head up and scan the rest of the pedestrian path. There’s still a decent amount of people left, mostly tourists obsessed with snapping photos of the sunset. But nobody is close enough to stop me, nobody even could.

Right now, there’s no place to leave a note, no way to for me to make a final phone call. I won’t need to confront Will or Percy or…or anyone…

I could just shadow travel across the bridge, bypass the guardrails and cars, lean over the edge and…jump. 

Drowning in the East River…tempting but…

I flick the spent butt to the ground and crush it with my boot before I start walking again. I’ll finish walking across the bridge, then I’ll dip into an alley and shadow travel back to my cabin. 

But all the walking has totally drained me. My legs are sore, and it’s not just from the raw cuts on my thigh. The tips of my boots drag a little with each step, scuffing the already battered toes. But neither pain holds a candle to the gnawing feeling in my stomach. 

By the time I make it to a semi-private dark place, I realize my shadow travel isn’t going to be nearly as precise as I need it to be. I just hope I can avoid everyone. It’s late, probably too late for people to be walking around camp. I don’t think there’s supposed to be a bonfire tonight either…

I lean against the rough brick wall and tighten the grip on my backpack. Taking a deep breath, I melt back into the shadows. 

I end up landing in a heap at the very edge of the woods. Twigs snap beneath me, and I hiss as the poke my stomach and scratch my face. After a few minutes of deep breathing, I struggle to my knees, still hunched over, and remain like that for another minute, stray rocks digging into my bony knees. 

Eventually I find the energy to stand up and stumble towards my cabin, thankful that the grounds seem to be deserted. For a second, I almost believe I’m in the clear, that I’m going to make it to my cabin without anyone noticing me. 

But I’m wrong. 

My stomach drops when I realize that someone is sitting on the ground in front of my door. The green fire torches cast just enough light to reveal a glimmer of blonde hair. 

Will. 

I want nothing more than to turn around and bolt, but the heaviness of my weary steps alert him to be presence. His head snaps up, and once he sees me, he immediately scrambles to his feet. 

“Where have you been all day! I looked for you everywhere,” he exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me into a tight hug. I immediately go stiff. 

“Y-you smell like smoke….a-and you’re face. What happened?” he observes as his pulls away, his nose crinkling in disgust and his brows drawing together in concern. I take the moment as a chance to jerk away and tear my arms from his grip. 

“Nico!”

“I-I just, please…I c-can’t talk right now. I-I have to go…I c-can’t,” I shakily reply, my hand already reaching for the doorknob. 

I wince when Will roughly grabs my forearm. “Seriously, we really need to talk about this. If it’s about what I said earlier, I’m sorry. I was just frustrated and…” he starts, furthering tightening his grip so I can’t pull away. 

I feel like I’m going to be sick, the non-existent contents of my stomach churn. The rest of his words fade out, even though I can still see his mouth moving. I-I can’t…can’t do this. 

“Let go,” I whisper in a quavering, barely there voice. 

“No, we have to talk,” he replies incredulously, like I’m delusional to think that I’m going to get away with not talking about what happened. 

W-we can’t talk. I can’t talk. 

“Let go,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. I grip the doorknob tighter, if that’s even possible. My knuckles have long since turned white from the effort. 

“I’m not letting you go until you agree to talk to me!” he shout, tugging hard on my arm. 

The fight just keeps getting louder and louder. Blinds are being drawn, campers are peeking out their doors. Their eyes are on us…watching me…all those people…

The shadows start to swirl around my feet, dancing wildly in the dim light of the torches. They grow stronger with each passing second, feeding off my emotions.

Will’s grip tightens on me and with one final tug he rips me away from the door to face him. He grips both my arms, holding them tightly in front of me. His handsome face is twisted in a mixture of concern, confusion, and anger. 

I feel the familiar tug in the pit of my stomach. It’s like everything gone cold and the only noise is the sound of my own pulse drumming in my ears.

It’s just like last time…in the woods…with Reyna and Hedge and…and Bryce…

“I said let go!” I shout, rage and fear pouring out of me in twin. 

I don’t really remember what happens after that. Everything went blank. 

One minute he’s standing, tall and imposing, gripping both of my wrists like a vice. Stubbornly trying to talk…trying so hard…

The next, he’s lying flat on his back in the dirt halfway across the courtyard. His whole body is smoking lightly. His limbs are sprawled in every direction. 

He isn’t moving. 

He isn’t moving. 

Everyone has gone silent; the only sound comes from the crackling brazier at the center of the courtyard. The campers that’d been gathering at their doors are frozen in place, all wearing the same look of shock. Someone shouts to get a medic. Someone shouts for Chiron. Someone else just shouts. 

I collapse against the door, choked sobs rising up my throat. My mouth hangs open in horror as I watch a few campers inch towards his…his body…

Will…oh gods…

Calling upon the rapidly pooling shadows, I slip backwards into the darkness. I don’t know where I’m going…I don’t know where I can go. 

I just know that I can’t be here….I can’t be here…

Oh gods…Will…


	9. Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cross-post w/ FF.net*
> 
> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want people to give a shit about my stories and review and all that. But that’s kind of hard when I’m a fickle piece of shit that takes months to update. But, y’know, life got in the way, blah, blah, blah. Kids, don’t think art school is a walk in the park. 
> 
> I know I would have a hard time enjoying a story that updated this infrequently, and I really want to be better about it. But sometimes it’s just hard to get everything right. So bear with me, I guess...
> 
> Also, excuse my use of probably the most basic af song by the Smiths. But it works to well to ignore it. So enjoy the feels if you decide to give it a listen.

PERCY  
Asleep- the Smiths

I find myself slipping back into my usual pattern, but this time I’m not drinking out of a sense of routine. I feel like I really, really deserve it after the day I’ve had. 

I swirl the clear liquid left in my mostly-full, chipped crystal whiskey tumbler. It was part a pairs set, a gift from Oliver to his favorite customer. There was a not so subtle hint of mocking in giving me two glasses, but I accepted them anyway. I was in no position to turn down his acts of kindness. 

Meanwhile, his earlier gift goes unused; the contents of the plastic bag sitting (or maybe waiting?) in the top drawer of my dresser. I’d been saving it for a really bad night…but maybe that night was tonight. 

I sigh and lean my head against the wall, taking a short sip of my drink and weighing the decision. I don’t know if this drink will be enough, not after such a bad day. I didn’t even bother going to dinner tonight. No, I haven’t left my cabin since…since he helped me to bed after lunch. 

Almost subconsciously, my hand brushes against my forehead. 

I take another, longer drink. Don’t think about him, especially not that part. Think about something else…

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. It’s a little strange that they’ve let me spend the day alone; usually they make a point of checking on me if they see me visibly upset. But it still seems a little late for someone to be checking on me. I almost want to ignore the knock because I honestly don’t know if I can deal with the endless amount of questions/concerns. I don’t know if I can lie and plaster a tired smile on my face today. 

But this time, the knocking isn’t hesitant, or even casual. It seems urgent. The sharp noise slices through the steadily growing fog inside my head and I realize it’s not going to go away anytime soon. Whoever’s out there must know I’m still in here; it’s not like I’d be anywhere else really.

Groaning, I haul myself up. At least I have the forethought to position my glass behind my alarm clock and hide the bottle in the rumpled folds of my comforter, just in case someone barges in. I shuffle towards the door, hands flying to my hair in an effort to smooth it. 

I open the door a crack, only to see Jason frantically looking over his shoulder and shouting to someone in the distance. I crane my neck to look around him, only to see a lot of people gathered in small groups. People usually aren’t out at this hour…

“Jason?” I rasp, clearing my throat. Panic spikes through my when I notice the golden, leaf-shaped blade strapped to his waist. What could be this urgent? Why does he need a weapon?

Whipping his head back around, he curses under his breath. “Come with me,” he orders tensely. 

“What’s going on?” I ask skeptically, eyebrows furrowing. My hand flys to my own pocket, as if to make sure Riptide is still there even though it always is. My fingers curl around the pen nervously, fiddling with the cap. 

He sighs in response, raking a hand through his closely cropped blonde hair. “Just…c’mon. I’ll explain, I swear.”

I follow after him, shutting the door behind me. Everyone seems unnaturally tense, but nobody is running around in a complete panic. So the world isn’t ending…but I still have no idea what’s happened. I’m starting to get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It can’t be good, whatever it is. 

Eventually, he leads me towards the edge of the woods, where there’s a small group of people milling around. Piper’s already there, Katroptris gripped tightly in one hand and a flashlight in the other. There’s Leo, Clarisse, Connor, Katie…all armed…

“Seriously Jason. What’s going on?” I plead one more time, my eyes bouncing over the familiar faces that all wear equal looks of surprise at seeing me.

He turns around and tosses me a battery powered lantern, face grim. 

“Something…something happened between Nico and Will. Nobody’s really sure what went down, but a bunch of people saw them fighting outside his cabin. One minute they’re shouting, like absolutely screaming at each other, and the next Will is lying in the dirt forty feet away, knocked out cold…”

“Shit,” I croak, throat tightening. He’d thrown him forty feet? Even if that was a gross overestimation, it’s still insane to think he’s that powerful…

“Nico shadow-traveled away, but he couldn’t have gotten far. I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t at least try to look for him,” he finished sadly, gripping the flashlight tighter. 

I nod and swallow hard, the urgency of the situation sobering me quickly. We all split up in different directions, quietly combing the woods with our weapons drawn in preparation for…something. 

Yeah, there are monsters in the woods at this hour of the night, but everyone seems to nervous for that to be the problem. We’ve all faced much, much worse over the past few years. These are just practice monsters, after all. 

My heart clenches when it finally occurs to me. They’re afraid of finding Nico, aren’t they?

There’s no telling what state he’ll be in if we find him out here. Nobody really saw what happened between him and Will, or heard what they were fighting about in the first place. It could’ve been Will’s fault, and Nico could’ve been acting in self-defense. Or…or he could’ve snapped, finally gone off the deep end for all we know…

He…he could be violent or delusional. And if what he’s done to Will is any indication, he’s got the potential to be really dangerous. Especially in the woods, alone and in the dark…in his element…

I feel like I forget that he’s a child of the Big Three just like Jason and I. He controls an entire realm unto itself. Fighting him now would be like fighting me in the middle of the sea…

But he would never hurt us, right? He’d never hurt someone he cares about; he’s really a good person…

But he hurt Will, and he loves Will. 

No, all this must be a misunderstanding. I saw him with Will this morning, and everything seemed fine between them. Maybe a little tense, but definitely fine…

It occurs to me that I don’t know how far I’ve walked, but I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone else. It’s so easy to get lost in thought out here, especially since the buzz of the forest provides the perfect white noise. But that’s exactly what makes the next sound so jarring. 

The grass beneath my foot crunches loudly, like fragile glass shattering. I train my lantern downward, and all I see for the next several feet are swathes of grass blanched of all color. Memories of the Battle of the Labyrinth and all the dead patches of grass Nico left behind flood my mind. 

He must be close. 

The air grows cold and stagnant as I move forward through a thicket of brittle shrubs. The humid buzz of the forest in its natural state is gone completely: no more cicadas, no more distant howls. I don’t even have to strain my ears to pick up on the short, gasping breaths. 

I swing my lantern around frantically, searching high and low for him because he just has to be around here somewhere. He just has to be. The second my light hits the space between two trees, the shadows start dancing wildly. My eyes strain in the weak light, but I finally see him. 

He’s curled up pitifully on the forest floor, body contorted to fold in on itself. The skinny arms that cover his face are marred by shallow scratches and bruises. The darkness clings to him, dulling the once bright LED light of the lantern. But what little light the lantern manages to give off is more than enough to make the swirling, roil tendrils of shadow whip around him. 

I step forward tentatively, testing the boundaries. When the grass beneath my feet crunches again, his whole body shudders and the shadows flare up. I stop for a second, a good three feet away from him, letting the forest go silent again. I don’t dare move any closer. 

I’m paralyzed, too afraid to intervene for fear of ending up like Will. 

Instead, my grip tightens on Riptide, knuckles turning white with anxiety. But a sword can’t cut through the darkness; it’s a monster I can’t fight, that I’ve never been able to fight.

“Nico?” I speak up, voice trembling as I reluctantly take another step forward. Another blast of cold air hits me. I can actually see my breath in front of me now. 

He moans long and low at the sound of my voice, fingers digging deeper into his biceps. His breathing gets more and more erratic as the seconds drag on. The sobs rise in his throat, choking the air out of each breath he manages to take. Sometimes it sounds like he’s dry-heaving, gagging. 

I can’t move, but I also can’t watch this. I care about him, and some part of me thinks he cares about me too. I need to do something; I need to get him through this. I have to push past my own fear because I know he did the same thing for me today. 

So I sit down in front of him, ringed by the shattered remains of the once lush forest. Brittle twigs and leaves crunch under my weight as I settle into a cross-legged position. I set Riptide on the ground next to me so that its warm glow mingles with the weak fluorescent light. 

Several minutes pass, but every time I try to speak the words die in my throat. I rack my brain, trying to think of something to say. Coming up with nothing, I instead reach a shaking hand out. My fingers graze against his stone cold knee, ready to jump back if he reacts badly. The only reaction I get is a small flinch, so I keep my hand in place. I’m still warm, even with the drop in temperature he’s caused. Hopefully it’ll be reassuring. 

“Just, um, breath. Okay Nico? Just like you told me earlier, in and out.” 

A knot of dread develops in the pit of my stomach when I realize that those simple, almost half-hearted words don’t seem to be changing anything. I’ve never been good at comforting people; I get flustered and never know what to say or how to help. I couldn’t manage to help myself most of the time…how am I expected to help someone else. 

I wish someone would show up and save me from this situation. But the entire forest is silent save for his labored breathing. I can’t hear the others anymore; they’re not coming. I’m alone…alone in the dark and I have no idea what to do.

Why did I have to be the one to find him? My mind drifts to Jason, and the concern he’d shown earlier. He would be so much better at this than me; I’m sure of it. Somehow he’s closer to Nico than I am, even though he’s only know him for a few months compared to my few years. Even Piper would be better…

I swallow hard and remember the counting trick Nico had used on me earlier. I try to keep the same pace, but I can already tell it’s not working. 

“Everyone’s out looking for you,” I add, gently rubbing my thumb against the worn fabric of his jeans. This only elicits another long, wordless groan. I realize how bad that might’ve sounded, like everyone was trying to hunt him down for what he did. 

“N-no, it’s not like that,” I backtrack quickly, cursing my stupidity. “We were all worried that you got hurt. We just want you safe. I-I’m sure whatever happened was just a big mistake; they’ll understand if you calm down and explain.”

Realistically, I don’t even know if that’s true. I don’t know if it’s a mistake or if anyone could possibly understand why he would do something so awful. I don’t know if there’ll be any repercussions if he really hurt Will. Hades, I don’t even know Will’s condition. Jason made it seem like he’d just been knocked out and that he would be fine, but I couldn’t be sure. But I’m so desperate to bring Nico out of this that I’m willing to lie. 

“I’ll take you back to my cabin, okay? You won’t have to see anyone else, I promise. Just please, please breath for me,” I plead, one more time, taking everyone out of the equation and praying that it’ll work. This time though, I shift to his side instead of sitting in front of him. Still wary of the possibility he’ll lash out, I slowly wrap one arm around his curled up form, pulling him close to my chest. I usually don’t like such overbearing contact when I’m like this but maybe…maybe this is what he needs. Warmth and guidance and comfort…

“We’re gonna count again, okay?” Just breath like I do. One, two, three, four, five,” I begin again, timing each count to my own deep breaths. His head is pressed tightly against my chest so he can feel the movement. I send a silent prayer to nobody in particular, completely desperate for this to work. 

Slowly but surely I feel everything in him loosen up. The tension melts from his form, and he sags against my side, arms lowering from his face. He’s still crying, but now it’s just soft hiccups, almost silent. 

“Do you still want to go back to my cabin?” I ask tentatively. I feel him nod in response. 

“Are you okay to walk?”

After I feel the second nod, I let go and move away. He stumbles to his feet, using a tree to support the bulk of his weight. Bits of dry, colorless bark slough of its surface, but he doesn’t seem to have the energy to survey the damage he’s caused. The previously discarded bag he’s since picked up dangles precariously from his wavering grip. 

After the first few times he stumbles and nearly falls over, I decide to just carry him the rest of the way. His head lolls against my chest; his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. But the whole act makes me realize how disturbingly skinny he is, to the point where picking him up feels like nothing even though I’m far from my prime. 

Somehow we reach my cabin without seeing anyone. I don’t know how long it’s been since I first went into the forest or how long I sat with him. They’ve probably given up by now, but there’s still the chance that they’re out there looking. Either way, I decide to make good on my promise and not tell anyone that I found him, at least for now. It gives me a better chance at controlling the situation. 

I manage to get the door open, even with my arms full of him. I drop his bag by the door and carry him over to my bed. I lay him down, and he limply flops on his side. 

“Bag,” he croaks as he slowly sits up. Frown on my face, I grab the backpack and place it in front of him. He paws through it, almost frantically, before removing a pack of cigarettes and a metal Zippo lighter. With shaking hands, he removes the fresh plastic casing and tosses it to the ground. It takes him a couple of tries to get the lighter going, but in no time he’s greedily sucking in smoke. 

In the light of my cabin, I’m finally able to see him in his entirety. Most of it is pretty, well, standard for him. The wet, red-tinged eyes aren’t out of place, nor is the expansive collection of nicks, bruises, and scratches that dust his face and arms. But what I really narrow in on is the brilliant red beginnings of a bruise wrapping around his right wrist. It’s not the same as the ones the dot his forearms, or the one blooming at the juncture of his jaw and neck. Those are just like the scratches; they’re probably from falling in the forest. But when his other hand moves to rake through his hair, I see another bruise in the exact same spot as the one on his right. It’s almost like something grabbed him…

“Not really his fault. I bruise easily,” he deadpans when he catches me staring at his wrists in particular. His response answers my unspoken question. So it was Will that caused them…

“Nico…” I begin, voice heavy with concern. 

“Stop,” he snaps, cutting me off. “Just…I-I can’t talk about it right not. C-can’t talk about him.” Just like that, the passive, empty look on his face breaks and tears well in his eyes. He rubs the frantically, the ash from his momentarily forgotten cigarette scattering across the blankets. 

Sensing more panic to come, I scramble to sit next to him. I don’t try to hold him like I had before, not yet. But I place my hand on top of his knee in an attempt to comfort him. 

We sit in silence for what feels like forever. I’m too afraid to talk, and eventually I just remove my awkward hand. At this point, the cigarette is probably doing most of the work. 

He shifts his body a bit, but ends up discovering something when his leg hits the glass bottle buried in the folds of fabric. Switching the cigarette to his left hand, he digs around for a second before pulling up the bottle of vodka I’d hidden. He glances over at me, raising an eyebrow slightly, and holds the bottle up. 

I rummage through my bedside drawer, pulling out the long-discarded second glass Oliver had given me. I never thought I would us it. Still skeptical, I pour him a small amount, much less than I would ever pour for myself. He gulps it down the second I hand it to him, leaving the glass dangling from his hand in a wordless gesture for more. 

I pour him more. 

I return to my own glass, intent on finishing it off while he slowly drains his second. I can’t help but notice how much older he looks, with the half-finished cigarette in one hand and the half-full glass in the other. His eyes are half-lidded and dull as he tips his head against the wall, exposing his long, pale neck in a way that’s oddly…sensual?

I shake my head and take a long drink. He’s, what, fourteen, maybe fifteen? I don’t even know, and part of me doubts if he knows for sure either. But he’s still a kid…

Except he’s not. A few years ago he was just a kid, all happy and energetic. But being a half blood destroyed that. Fighting two wars destroyed that. Being a PoW destroyed that. I destroyed that…

We’ve settled into a silence that seems easy. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, even after spending all this time watching him. I don’t think he’s even noticed my staring. He seems so out of it, lost in his own thoughts. 

I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually I break the silence. It must have been a while though; he’s finished with his drink. His eyes have gone glassy. 

“So…you don’t want to talk about what happened?”

“No,” he replies shortly. He doesn’t even look at me when he talks, instead focusing on some uninteresting corner of the room. 

“What do you want to do?” I ask tentatively. All I want to do is help, but I don’t want to push him too far. 

“I just want to sleep…” he whispers, voice hitching a little. 

“Okay.” 

Without another word, I take the smoldering stub of his cigarette out of his hand and drop it in his empty glass. I set both of our glasses on my bedside table and lie back, inviting Nico to join me. 

He crawls towards me, pinning himself between the wall and my side. He curls up, resting his head against my chest. I wrap an arm around him, but he still doesn’t look at me before his eyes drift shut. Without the distraction of a glass and cigarette, and during those fleeting moments on the edge of sleep, he looks innocent…so small…

I flick off the lamp, leaving myself with only dim, filtered moonlight. In the semi-darkness, his edges are indefinite. The black fabric of his clothing and his long, shaggy mess of hair recede into the background, but the translucent white of his face seems to glow in the moonlight. My eyes trace across the angles of his face, which hold such an odd variety. Some are soft and gradual, like the curve of his lips or the natural slope of his nose. The rest, like the planes of his cheeks or the line of his jaw, are almost unnatural, harshened by fatigue and weight loss. Some tiny part of me, some voice buried in the back of my head recognizes the eclectic combination of angle and form for what it really is.

Beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this slightly long chapter makes up for being gone for so long. Hopefully I'll be able to get a new chapter up soon. I'm starting off on a good foot though, since I already have an idea of how I want to treat the next chapter.  
> But, until then, let me know what you think, please. Comments provide a HUGE sense of motivation, and remind me that someone out there is actually reading.


	10. Shimmer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm reaaallllyyyyy sorry...
> 
> I mean, I can blame the lateness of this chapter on a lot of life bullshit. Crazy finals last semester, dick-ish professors and a heavy work load this semester. Honestly I haven't had the energy to deal with this story in a while. But things might be looking up, so hopefully the next chapter comes faster. 
> 
> Also, I feel like I should mention that the first 9 chapters of this story went through a VERY minor rewrite that basically just served to edit, clarify, and streamline everything. Also I feel like I should mention that I rewrote most of those chapters while I was studying abroad in Athens, Greece for two weeks this January haha
> 
> Well, hope you enjoy this chapter! Not too happy with it myself, but I really needed to get myself back into the swing of this story

NICO   
Shimmer- Moose Blood

I’m starting to think that alcohol doesn’t stop burning. 

It burns going down my already parched, sore throat. Burns so much that I cough nine times out of ten. 

It burns like a hot, lead weight in my empty stomach, which churns sickeningly as I lie on a park bench, shaded from hot summer sun but unable to escape the baking heat. I’d long since transferred the stolen contents of the glass bottle to a large plastic one. Nobody knows this way. 

It burns even worse when it inevitably comes back up in a tide of sour bile. 

I have to wonder if Percy ever has that problem. Part of me still can’t imagine him in the same position I am, hunched over a trashcan, puking his guts out while pale stomach acid drips down his chin. I can’t image him with aching joints from kneeling on the chipped linoleum floor of a gas station bathroom. 

Even now, my hero complex gets in the way. Even now, I can’t seem to see him as weak. 

But I know that he’s…weak. Maybe even weaker than me if this bottle is any indication. I can’t image it’s the only one. Not with the precense of those glasses, not with the ease he showed in drinking himself. 

Nope, he’s just as fucked up as me. And that’s part of what’s calling me back to New York. 

I haven’t set foot in the state since I left that morning, since I slithered out of his tight grip, taking great care to avoid waking him with the shift of the bedsprings. I’ve been trying to push all of him from my mind because I absolutely cannot go back there…I just can’t, even if I wanted to see him.

I can’t image going back there, facing Jason or…or god’s forbid Will. Even if I went back to see him, it would be too much of a risk. He might betray me, hand me over to them. And I can’t risk it. 

No, it’s safer to stay here in Chicago, where nobody would ever think to look for me. It’s summer; I can handle sleeping rough outside and living off stolen food. I’ve had to deal with much worse before.

But in the end, I don’t have nearly as much resolve as I think I do. 

I break one late night, over two weeks after I left, just as the last drops of vodka are drained from the plastic bottle. I want to see him again, want to be with him again because waking up with his strong arms wrapped around me was honestly the best moment I’d had in years. In the fleeting seconds before I remembered why I was there, what I’d done…I’d been truly content. Almost happy... 

Drunk me wanted that again; it became my mind’s singular focus. 

So the plan was simple. I can shadow travel to some liquor store, grab a bottle of something, and go see him. Maybe I’ll grab two bottles as some sort of peace offering, since I stole the vodka from him in the first place. My addled mind thought it was an absolute brilliant idea. 

And it still felt like a brilliant idea until the very moment I landed with a thump in his cabin, two bottles of hastily snatched vodka fisted in my hands. I swayed for a moment before righting myself to face him, only to find him half-asleep in bed. 

“Nico? I-is that you?” he asks, rubbing his bleary eyes with the heel of his hands. 

“H-heyyy,” I greet, unable to stop myself from chuckling a little at the absurdity of the situation. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, tone incredulous as all remnants of sleep are replaced with shock. He must have assumed that I took the bottle with him when I left, but I doubt he ever imagined I would show up in his cabin drunk. 

“Mhm,” I hum in response. “Buttttt I brought you some too. ‘S don’t worry.” 

I offered him both bottles, and he grabbed them with only the smallest bit of halting hesitation. And he certainty showed no hesitation in pouring himself a glass. 

“Y-you want any?” he asks, eyeing me up and down. He’s probably trying to gauge how drunk I am. He must figure I’m pretty far gone if I ended up here. 

I only nod in response, accepting the glass once he’s dug it back out of the drawer and poured me a bit. We move to sit on the bed, everything practically mirroring what went down all those weeks ago. Except now I’m stretched out a bit, one leg splayed out and the other cast upwards, bent at the knee. Not nearly as tense…

“W-what are you doing here Nico? Not that I’m complaining, but like, nobody’s seen you in weeks. I-I…I mean, we would’ve thought you were dead if Hazel hadn’t told us otherwise,” he starts, breaking the silence. 

“Not like it’s the first time I e’vr disappeared,” I mumble over the lip of my glass, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Why did they even care?

“Yeah, but it’s the first time in a long time that you’ve done it without contacting…well, anyone. Usually at least your dad knows where you are,” he tries to reason. 

“Can you blame me for leaving?” I ask, staring sideways at him, head pressed lazily into my arm. 

“I-I…well, no. But we’ve been worried,” he admits before trailing off, taking a sip of his own drink to fill the silence. 

“No, no,” I sniff, eyes watering involuntarily. “That’s not true. T-they don’t care. But you…you only care ‘cause you understand.”

“Understand what?”

“What it’s like to hurt someone really bad. Y-you let Bia get hurt,” I mumble. His face blanches immediately at the mention of Bianca, and he looks like he’s about to be sick. Perhaps I’m drunker than I thought. I haven’t talked about her in a long time, much less brought her up to Percy…

“But…but it’s okay, really. ‘Cause I forgive you even though you promised me you’d bring her back,” I reply as stubborn tears threaten to slide down my face. It still hurts to think about her…

“’S okay,” I mumble again, reaching to brush my fingers against his cheek only to have him flinch away, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Y-you didn’t kill Will though,” he manages shakily. 

“But I hurt him really bad. S’wasn’t…wasn’t moving when I ran away,” I hiccup. I can practically feel my throat closing up at this point, getting all thick and tight…

“Have you tried to apologize?” 

“Doesn’t matter. Nobody’ll ever forgive me, specially not him.”

“H-he walked away with a concussion and some bruises. H-he’s physically fine now, so I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you really apologize. I mean, you just said you forgive me for what I did so…” he tries to reason. 

“S’not the same though. You’re easy forgive ‘cause you do so much good stuff to make up for it. You’re all nice and you save the world and junk. But I never do good things, so I don’t deserve to be forgiven,” I state simply, like it’s something so obvious, like he should already be aware of it. 

But still, he looks at me like I’m crazy. 

“I’m not good though,” I choke out, swallowing hard. “I almost joined the bad side; whole world would’ve been destroyed. Betrayed you to my dad too, got you locked up in that cell. You could’ve suffocated. A-and almost got you killed ‘cause you were trying to save me from the j-jar. C-couldn’t pull you and A-annabeth up, so…so you fell down there. Nobody else should’ve ever seen that, nobody.”

“But that wasn’t your fault. You tried to help,” he attempts, voice catching at the mere mention of her. But I ignore his protests and continue, my one track mind hell bent on bringing up every reason I don’t deserve to be loved. 

“But I couldn’t! Couldn’t save you and now y-you’re like…like this. A-and then, when I was i-in the forest with Reyna and Hedge…I-I just…”

My voice abandons me before I can finish the statement, before I can admit to what I’d done all those months ago. Fat tears make tracks down my face and my hands shake so badly that the vodka splashes past the brim of the glass. 

Before I know it, Percy is taking the glass from my hand and pulling me closer, long arms wrapping around my torso. He cradles my head against his chest in a way that’s strangely protective, in a way that I should probably reject. 

But I can’t control it anymore. I can’t bite my tongue and sour my face and pretend like it doesn’t hurt. I let myself cry instead, my tears soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt. The whole time I’m trying to talk, but everything that leaves my mouth is a half-crazed string of mumblings and stutters. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. I didn’t mean to. Wasn’t trying to. Didn’t want to…to…only wanted to hurt him. Said I’m sorry. 

“I…it doesn’t matter what you did. Not to me,” he mumbles, unsure of what to say to comfort me. “I-I’ve done shitty things too. A lot of terrible things. But I guess…I guess I just mean you’re not alone. I won’t judge you…” he manages, his own eyes going glassy in the process. 

The tears slow over the course of the next few minutes. His hand is on my back now, rubbing soothing circles through the roughness of my jacket. 

“I…why don’t w-we just go to sleep? It’s late and you’re…kind of a mess.”

We lie back, just like last time. My head rests on his chest, cheek pressed close enough to feel the warmth rolling off his body. 

“Just…promise me you’ll still be here when I wake up? We can talk more in the morning,” he murmurs in the moments before sleep. 

I bite my lip, but I eventually nod in response. Still, I’m not sure if my attitude will change in the morning. I don’t know if I’ll wake up and realize that I can’t stay, that I can’t talk to him. I don’t know if I’ll roll out of my bed and grab my things and shadow-travel to another city. Maybe I’ll try Seattle next. 

Is this going to be an endless cycle? Am I just destined to come see him every few weeks, spectacularly drunk? Am I always going to leave the morning after?

Sleep takes me before I can come up with an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think and if there's anything you want to see out of this story! I'd appreciate any and all criticism.


	11. ***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

Okay, so sadly this isn't the chapter I was hoping to have done by now. It's been nearly two months since I updated and honestly I feel pretty awful about it. I know some people probably still care about this story, so I'm sorry if this author's note is a let down after such a wait. I usually don't do author's notes like this. 

But, basically, I feel like I need to make a request of someone that might be reading, someone that cares about this story and wants to see the end sooner rather than later. I feel like I need a beta reader! I haven't had one in YEARS, not since I first started writing on FF.net (and good lord, don't ask what fandom it was for). But I feel like that might help things a lot. My biggest problem is that I'll get done with a chapter and just immediately post it without going through it enough because I feel bad for making everyone wait. But then I'll go back and find issues and things I don't like, so I'll end up spending even more time re-writing things (like, I'm literally rewriting the first chapter for probably the fourth time right now?). 

So, if anyone's interested in betaing for me, leave a comment down below. If not, I'm sure you'll get the next chapter eventually. I'm hoping this summer will be a lot more productive writing wise, but having someone giving my stuff a once over before I post would make that even easier! 

Thanks for bearing with me, and hopefully someone actually sees this message. Sometimes I doubt people still give a shit after two months or more of waiting.


	12. Mokena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Giants' War ended with the bloodiest battle either camp had seen in centuries. Casualties were high, and injury rates were even higher. By the end, it seemed like no demigod, Roman or Greek, made it through completely unscathed. Everyone lost someone: be it a friend, a sibling, or a fellow soldier.
> 
> But Percy...well, most agree that he suffered the worst loss of all. Even after all he's been through, the Gods struck him a gut-wrenching blow. Annabeth is gone, and he doesn't know how to cope without his other half.
> 
> Conversely, Nico's finally been dealt a good hand, or so it seems. He's made it through the war (an absolute miracle given the state of his health) and has found solace in a certain son of Apollo.
> 
> But they each have dangerous secrets; secrets that they are desperate to keep hidden.
> 
> They're both falling apart behind closed doors. Will they be able to help each other before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I'm back with another chapter! I really do want to apologize for all the delays. I've been absurdly stressed between the end of my semester and moving into a new apartment. But everything's all settled now, so hopefully I'll be able to finish the next chapter sooner rather than later. 
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you think of this chapter! It's maybe a tiny bit filler-ish, but it's setting up for what'll probably end up being a very intense next chapter. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I also hope you enjoy the little playlist I've been creating for this fic, let me know what you think of that too!

PERCY  
Mokena- Real Friends

He’s still in my arms when I wake up. 

I’m completely shocked to find him there, curled up against my side and fast asleep. I half expected…no, I fully expected him to be gone by the time I woke up, along with the other bottle of vodka he’d brought. But, apparently that wasn’t the case.

I crane my neck to the side carefully, not wanting to shift too far and disturb him. I catch sight of the alarm clock. It’s only 8’oclock, still pretty early considering how late it’d been when he showed up. 

I sigh and bite my lip, unsure of what to do. 

Part of me wants to stay here forever, surrounded by all these impossibly comforting sensations. The weight of his head on my chest. The scant amount of warmth rolling off his body. The soft puff of his slow, deep breaths against my neck. I’d forgotten just how good it felt to sleep next to someone. It’d been months since…since…

No. Deep breaths…don’t think of her. Think of him, focus on his breathing and his presence right next to you. You don’t want to wake him up, right?

But…but he’ll have to wake up eventually and I could take this as a chance to do the right thing. I still have time to slip out of bed and run down to the dining pavilion to grab two plates of food, for the both of us because gods know we need to eat. And I could run them back up here with the hope that Nico won’t wake up while I’m gone. And then…we can talk? I can try to convince him to stick around? 

I don’t even know if that’s possible at this point. He’s been gone for so long, and not just the past few weeks. He’s always been a wanderer, always in and out of camp, never quite fitting in or getting used to the routine. 

I just don’t know I can find the words to make him stay; I don’t know if anyone can. If anything, maybe Will could convince him…but that would me turning him back towards Will…and away from me.

And for some reason, that makes me feel sick. 

I take a deep breath before finally making up my mind. I’m gonna go get food and I’m going to sit Nico down and convince him to talk to Will so that he’ll stay at camp where he’ll be safe and where…where maybe I can talk to him too. 

I slowly shimmy out of bed, glad that he’s the one closest to the wall. He barely seems to notice I’m gone, only grumbling a bit when I have to pick his arm up off my chest. Without me in the bed, he flops over onto his stomach, legs kicking weakly under the blankets as he gets comfortable again. I should probably make this fast…

I walk over to my dresser and fish through the drawers until I find a set of clothes that aren’t too dirty. I turn to look over my shoulder one last time, just to make sure he’s still asleep, before stripping and changing. 

I slip out the door, making sure to shut it quietly instead of letting it slam like usual. There don’t seem to be a lot of people around the cabins at this point, so they must already be eating. Ideally I would’ve woken up just a little bit earlier, just in time to grab some food without having to face basically the entire camp. But there isn’t much I can do about that now. 

Nobody approaches me at first, and I’m left to fill up my plates in peace. Well, people are watching me, of course, but that’s kind of expected at this point. I fill up my own plate, though the portion size isn’t close I used to eat. Still, it’s pretty impressive that I’m willingly eating breakfast, even if it’s because I know I have to as opposed to actually being hungry. 

I’m not entirely sure what to get for Nico though, so I fill the plate up with toast and fruit. I feel like I’d seen him eat that before, but they seem like safe options regardless. Who doesn’t like toast?

I’ve neared the end of the buffet line before Jason gets up to talk to me. He stands awkwardly near the little boxes of cereal, pretending to be interested in the brightly colored stacks, like he’s trying to choose one.

“Hey,” he tries, obviously unsure of how to approach this whole mess. It's been days since I last saw him. I end up nodding in response.

His eyes narrow in on the two plates in my hand, one piled with bacon and eggs, the other with toast and fruit. It's not really a lot of food to most people, but I can see why Jason would be a little confused at me eating so much. But I'm not about to reveal Nico's secret, so I'll have to come up with a lie.

“Just…hungry is all,” I answer lamely, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying not to seem too awkward. 

“Uh, that’s good then,” he replies, briefly making eye contact with Piper, who was sat down a few tables away. She raises a questioning eyebrow in return. 

“See you around,” I stutter quickly, steering myself down the center aisle while his back is turned. It’s definitely, well, frowned upon to take food out of the dining pavilion, but people tend to do it anyway. At this point, I’m even more liable to get a pass on it. 

By the time I made it back to my cabin, Nico’s already awake, curled up on his side, facing the door. 

“I brought breakfast,” I say, awkwardly holding the plates up a little. 

“Not hungry,” he mumbles,

“Believe me, I get the whole ‘not being hungry’ thing, but you should really eat something," I reply, brow furrowing with concern. He definitely looked like he could use it, and it's not like I've brought him a massive breakfast. His plate is just toast and some fruit, that's all. 

"I said I'm not hungry," he mumbles again, burying his face in my pillow. 

"C'mon, at least try."

“I really can’t,” he chokes out, . “If I ate that much…it’d just come back up.”

“I...wow. H-how long?” I ask, throat going all thick as I sit down next to him. He scoots up into a semi-seated position to join me, body still wrapped up in my thick comforter. 

“Dunno,” he shrugs, dropping his eyes in shame. “Haven’t been normal about it in a long time, but it got…it got a lot worse after Tartarus. Couldn’t keep much of anything down after...after basically starving and well…still can’t.”

I glance at him again, my eyes scanning up and down his body. It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve gotten to see him in decent light without any other distractions. Sure, he’s thinner than I ever remember him being. And he’s always been a small kid but...but the way his collarbone, exposed beneath the neckline of his baggy t-shirt, strains against the pale skin can't exactly be considered healthy. Still, it doesn’t seem to add up. The image in front of me doesn’t exactly line up with someone that’s gone nearly two months without a proper meal. 

“I do eat,” he mumbles defensively in answer to my unasked question. “Just…not a lot…and not often. And…it’s mostly just ambrosia. That’s the only thing keeping my body from going totally haywire, according to…to Will. It was supposed to be a temporary fix until we could start reintegrating food but…yeah.” 

“You know that’s kinda crazy, right?” I reply, unsure of what I could possibly say at this point. What he’s doing is absurdly dangerous, but it’s not like I have any better advice. If Will thought it was a decent plan, then it couldn’t possibly be that bad. Still, I snatch a piece of dry toast off his plate and hold it out to him, urging him to at least try. 

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he sighs under his breath, nibbling at the corner of the toast. 

“Because…you probably need some to talk to,” I venture after a long pause, sparing him another quick glance. I really don’t want to presume why he’s here, but I have to try something,

“Yeah, and who have you been talking to?” he bites back, a hint of venom seeping into his voice. 

I frown at that because honestly...it's not like he's wrong. I know that I've been shutting myself out and that it's probably not the best thing for me to do. I...I know that nothing I'm doing is ever going to help me move on. I just don't feel like I have anyone to talk to anymore. 

“Sorry. I…shouldn’t have snapped like that. I’m just…I don’t know,” he trails off, listlessly gesturing with his hands. Sighing again, he leans over the edge of the bed and scoops up his abandoned backpack. After a few seconds of pawing through its meager contents, he pulls out a battered carton of cigarettes and a Zippo. He smacks the pack against his palm a few times before slipping one out and immediately depositing it between his parted lips. 

“Want one?” he mumbles around the cigarette, shifting it to the corner of his mouth for a moment while he shakes out a second. 

“Nah, I’m…uh…good. I’ve never really tried.”

“No better time than the present,” he replies offhandedly, placing the cigarette in my hand regardless of whether I actually wanted it in the first place. I roll it between my fingers for a moment while he fumbles with the lighter, which doesn’t seem to be working. After a couple tries he gives up and curses softly under his breath. He tosses the lighter away in annoyance, metal clanging as it skids across the hardwood floor and hits the far wall., 

“I don’t suppose you have a lighter?” he ventures, groaning as he leans his head against the wall. 

“Uh, gimme a sec,” I reply, hauling myself off the bed. I’d hidden the weed Oliver had gifted me weeks ago at the bottom of my dresser drawer, too paranoid to keep it anywhere else and entirely too nervous to use it. I fish through the contents of the outer Ziploc bag and pull out the lighter. It’s a cheap, plastic Bic one, but it’ll get the job done. I toss it towards him, and he expertly lights the cigarette with a practiced hand. 

“Thought you don’t smoke,” he muses, eyebrow raised, as the first puffs of smoke swirl above him. He holds the second out to me, it’s tip glowing softly. 

I settle back down next to him, our knees bumping together awkwardly. I watch him, side-eyed, for a minute as I try to memorize his motions. Once he’s taken a few drags, I try to mimic what I watched him do. I thought it would be fine; it couldn’t possibly be that hard. 

I was wrong. Instead, I end up hacking up a lung, gasping for breath. 

And he chuckles. He actually chuckles at my misfortune. It’s weak and throaty and devolves into soft coughing by the end, but I’m immediately taken aback by the sound. It’s not the kind of thing that should be coming from him. Nico doesn’t laugh; he doesn’t even smile most of the time. 

“Guess you weren’t lying,” he wheezes, shaking his head as the last remnants of his laughter fade away. He takes the time to explain the actual mechanics of the whole thing. It takes a few more tries before I get the hang of it, but eventually I manage a drag with minimal coughing. By that point though we’d settled into an easy silence.

I’ve noticed that about him, the silence. He doesn’t feel the need to fill these interactions with words. We can just…exist together. And it should feel good, having him there for company. There’s no pressure anymore, since he already kinda knows about everything. 

But I don’t have time for silence right now. There are so many questions floating through my head. Mostly I just wonder…why. Why, after weeks with no contact, did he suddenly show up in my cabin in the middle of the night, drunk no less? And, more importantly, why come to me and not Will? 

“What are you doing here? Really?” I ask, breaking the quiet air of the room. All I get in response is another noncommittal shrug. 

“Are…are you going to see him?” I ask tentatively. I know I’m playing the pronoun game, but he must understand who I mean. 

“I…I don’t know,” he confesses, raking a hand through his tangled hair. 

“He’s, like, completely lost without you,” I try to reason with him. It isn’t a lie. Lately Will has been shutting himself away, just like me, just like Nico. I’m sure it’s at least partially in order to recover from his concussion. Chiron and the rest of the campers agreed that he really shouldn’t be overexerting himself, so they let him take a break from his infirmary duties, but that doesn’t explain the skipped meals or the constant naps. Nico just…leaving…like that must have screwed with him emotionally. 

Still, all I get is an exasperated scoff. 

“No, seriously. He doesn’t actually remember your fight. All he knows is that you guys fought, that things got out of hand and that…that you just suddenly dropped off the face of the planet without saying goodbye,”

His brows knit together in confusion. “H-he…doesn’t remember?” he asks, eyes finally flickering up to mine. 

I shake my head and watch as a dozen different emotions fly across his face. Confusion, then sadness, a flash of anger and a wave apprehension. He bites his lip, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. 

“Do…do you love him?” I ask tentatively, trying to steer the conversation. Honestly, I don’t even know how I want him to answer. I just want him to be happy, and if that means him being with Will…well, then I can’t be mad. If it’ll get him to stay at camp…then I’m in no position to keep him from Will. 

Still, he looks apprehensive. Admittedly, I don’t know a lot about their relationship. I think that, on a surface level at least, Will seems to love him a lot. I think that’s clear from the way he kissed him that morning, from the way he’s mourned Nico’s sudden departure. But he…he also hurt Nico, whether he meant to or not. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forget those bruises on his wrist, stark against his pale skin. I-I couldn’t image hurting…hurting Annabeth. And I’d loved her so much, once. 

I swallow hard and glance over in his direction. Finding the right words is…difficult. I don’t want to push him back towards something toxic, but I also don’t want him to needlessly ruin something that could bring him genuine happiness. 

“If the answer is even maybe, I really think you should go talk to him. I mean, you still can. He’s still here; you still have a chance to fix things if…if you think they can be fixed, that is,” I finally manage.

“I-I want to,” he answers shakily, throat constricting his voice in a weird way. Whether that’s an answer to loving him or wanting to fix things, I’m not sure. 

“Then you have to try,” I assure him. Even though it’s a bit early, I lean over him and grab the partially empty bottle of vodka from last night and pour him a shot. Hopefully it’ll give him a rush of confidence. 

“C’mon, take the shot and go. Everyone else is at breakfast, so you’ll probably be able to get him alone,” I urge him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Steeling himself, he tosses back the shot with a grimace and shoves the glass towards my outstretched hand. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, before closing it and hauling himself off the bed. He makes a beeline for the door, leaving behind all of his stuff.  
He hesitates at the doorknob for a moment, hand trembling like he’s trying to force himself to grip it properly. He looks over his shoulder, like he’s asking for one final reassurance.

“Go,” I urge him, my own voice going tight as well. A small part of me isn’t sure if this is the right decision. That part of me…it’s telling me to keep him here forever, where he’s safe and won’t be forced to deal with his situation. But he can’t keep running forever. 

And..and I know Will is probably his best chance at being happy. 

At least…I think so.


End file.
